


Act On It, Don't Just Feel

by syriala



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Curses, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Magic, Mystery, The Witcher AU, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolves, Witcher Stiles, talk about suicide, you don't need to know the games to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syriala/pseuds/syriala
Summary: Stiles stared at the letter in his hands. He would wonder how any messenger even found him, here, in the middle of nowhere, since he was close to a cavern people had avoided for years now. But then again, he could still hear Peter Hale’s voice. It was still as smug in his head as it always had been in real life and accompanied by that infuriating little smirk Peter always seemed to wear.‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. If it’s time for you to repay the debt you owe me, I’ll find you.’It must have been years since then, probably almost a decade or two, but Stiles could still picture the bastard clearly.Stiles read over the letter again, noting how the writing got shakier the longer it went on and he wondered what trouble Peter had landed himself in.





	Act On It, Don't Just Feel

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see the supposed word count was 14k, and this totally got away from me.
> 
> Special thanks goes to Lavender, for betaing this monster for me, and all remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> I had the pleasure of working with [nutterfox](http://nutterfox.tumblr.com/), who knows so much about The Witcher games and was a great sounding board for me, on top of providing the beautiful art that inspired this fic. You should be able to find the two amazing art pieces [here](http://nutterfox.tumblr.com/174848241460)!

Stiles stared at the letter in his hands. He would wonder how any messenger even found him, here, in the middle of nowhere, since he was close to a cavern people had avoided for years now. But then again, he could still hear Peter Hale’s voice. It was still as smug in his head as it always had been in real life and accompanied by that infuriating little smirk Peter always seemed to wear.

_‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. If it’s time for you to repay the debt you owe me, I’ll find you.’_

It must have been years since then, probably almost a decade or two, but Stiles could still picture the bastard clearly.

Stiles read over the letter again, noting how the writing got shakier the longer it went on and he wondered what trouble Peter had landed himself in.

The letter spoke of a dead niece, torn to pieces in the woods, and no leads Peter or his clan could follow without risking the same fate.

It gave no further clues, no hints as to what Stiles should prepare for, and he sighed.

“Fucking Hale,” he muttered and unconsciously rubbed a hand over his side.

The scar was still prominent, even though it was completely healed, and Stiles found himself grateful for Peter yet again. Without him the striga would have gutted Stiles. Even with Peter’s interference, only his enhanced healing had saved Stiles, though Peter never let him forget that it was his hand that saved Stiles. He couldn’t have been any more smug if he had tried.

Stiles has been dreading the day he would call in that particular favor, but declining wasn’t an option.

He owed Peter big time and he needed to at least find out what the problem was.

“Roscoe,” he yelled before he whistled for his horse as well, and then packed his bags while he waited for Roscoe to show up.

He would need to stop at the next city, stock up on all the herbs he could find, since he didn’t know what monster he would be fighting. If he remembered correctly the Hale’s lived near the border, and he wasn’t convinced they would have everything he needed.

Better safe than sorry, Stiles figured. He would get his gear checked out as well, while he was there, and then he would make his way to the Hale estate.

He certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.

~*~*~

On his way to the Hale’s Stiles gathered as much knowledge about them as he could. Know thy enemy, right? Well, in a work as dangerous as Stiles’, know your employers was almost as crucial.

The Hale’s seemed to be upstanding citizens, protecting the borders for generations now. The closer Stiles got to their estate the prouder the people would talk about them.

‘Just and generous’, ‘concerned for the villages around’, ‘normal, hardworking people’ were just a few of the things Stiles got to hear.

There were tales about Peter’s travels, as he was apparently the first Hale in over a 100 years to leave the estate for extended traveling, and people were cautious of that.

Stiles learned all about Talia and Joseph, leaders of the family, and their kids, Laura, Derek and Cora.

He heard people say that the borders had never been safer and that Talia Hale and the strict way she led her armies was certainly to thank for that.

Stiles heard tales of how Laura died: torn to pieces in the woods, peacefully sleeping at home, stumbling through the forest and getting lost before starvation claimed her. Stiles sighed with every knew story he heard.

This was the reason his job was so hard sometimes. It wasn’t because of the monsters or dangers that he was confronted with, it was because of everyone who thought they knew exactly what had happened, even though they only heard about it from other people who hadn’t been involved either.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on, though, was that the Hale family deserved better and no one had wished such a horrible fate on them.

When Stiles rode up to the estate, he wasn’t surprised to see Peter waiting for him. News traveled fast in small villages like this.

Peter looked him over once and then smirked.

“Still the world’s most dangerous twink, I see,” he said and affectionately petted Roscoe’s head, who seemed to have recognized him.

“Still the world’s smuggest bastard,” Stiles gave back with a little smile of his own.

Time had been good to Peter, Stiles decided as he dismounted. He looked like he had grown into himself and Stiles had to admit that the faint wrinkles around his eyes suited him very well.

He walked around Roscoe, who had apparently found Peter’s secret stash of treats in his pocket and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Still bribing my horse?” he asked and Peter shrugged unapologetically.

“It’s a temperamental demon horse. I like my insides to stay where they are. What did you expect.”

Stiles laughed at that. Peter never got over the fact that Roscoe had torn apart a harpy once and Stiles couldn’t say he minded. At least Peter showed some respect to at least one of them.

Peter finished feeding Roscoe before he petted him again.

“Still going with the blue ribbon, I see.”

“Roscoe likes them. I’d love to see you try and tell her no,” Stiles easily gave back, but now that he was closer he could see that Peter was tense, shoulders set into a hard line and he looked like he hadn’t slept in ages.

“Thank you for coming,” Peter abruptly said, voice solemn, and Stiles suddenly realized that this was the first time he had ever heard Peter utter a thank you.

“It’s no problem,” he seriously gave back, before he tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since you left me in that horrible tavern.”

“You refused a real doctor, it’s not my fault the tavern was closest,” Peter replied and huffed when Roscoe headbutted him, looking for more treats.

“You ate them all, you monster,” Peter fondly told her and Roscoe immediately lost interest in Peter.

“Can one of our stable boys look after her or is she going to eat them?” Peter asked Stiles who shook his head at him.

“You know, Roscoe is not really a monster,” he told Peter, not for the first time, but Peter didn’t seem to hear him and instead looked at him expectantly.

“If no one touches her ribbon they should be fine,” Stiles finally admitted and Peter waved his hand.

Stiles couldn’t even say that he was surprised that one of the stable boys materialized apparently out of thin air next to them.

He gave some short instructions, more for Roscoe’s benefit than the stable boy’s, and then he let Peter lead him towards the house.

“My sister didn’t want to call you in,” Peter said on the way, which surprised Stiles.

“But you thought it was necessary.”

Peter didn’t seem like the type to waste a favor.

“Something tore Laura apart,” he said, voice low. “There were pieces missing.”

“Missing? Or eaten?” Stiles questioned and going by how pale Peter got it was the latter.

But instead of answering his question, he suddenly stopped Stiles before he could enter the house.

“No weapons are allowed when you meet my sister,” he said apologetically, and Stiles raised his eyebrow at him.

Stiles was basically a weapon himself, and if he wasn’t allowed to enter the house they would have a bit of a problem.

“Just get rid of the visible ones,” Peter said with a sigh and pointed to the swords and the crossbow on Stiles’ back.

Stiles hesitated, not liking the idea of being apart from his weapons, but in the end he handed them over. It wasn’t like he didn’t have more on him, like he couldn’t still defend himself without them, but he immediately missed their weight on his back and his hands flexed at his sides.

“I’ll need the bolts too,” Peter said with a little frown, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“We both know you can throw them faster and harder than any human can,” Peter easily gave back, not backing down, even under Stiles’ furious gaze.

“They are just bolts. They don’t even count as a weapon without a crossbow,” Stiles said.

He had a few special bolts in that bundle on his hip and he wasn’t keen on letting them out of his sight.

“I’ll put them in my room, they’ll be safe there,” Peter said with a knowing look, and Stiles nodded once before he handed them over as well.

“I’m afraid the hook has to go too,” Peter said with a nod at Stiles’ hip.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked Peter who just shrugged.

“I saw what you can do with that thing,” he said, visibly shaking at the mental image. “It needs to go.”

“I don’t remember you being quite this delicate,” Stiles mumbled, but he gave Peter the hook too.

“You tore out some poor creatures gut with it and then hung it on your saddle. That hook is more terrifying than your swords could ever be,” Peter told him and Stiles laughed at that.

They both knew Peter had some healthy respect for both his swords, but it was kind of funny to see him this worked up over a relatively small and harmless hook.

“What about the bomb?” Stiles asked and Peter startled as Stiles took it off his belt and held it out to Peter.

“You’re wearing them on you now?” he asked, and there was a slight note of panic to his voice.

When Stiles had met Peter for the first time, he had still been young and stupid, keeping the bombs with Roscoe at all times. The scar on his back reminded him every day how idiotic he had been then.

“You never know when they come in handy,” Stiles easily replied and Peter looked him over.

“A hard learned lesson?” he wanted to know and Stiles only nodded.

“Fine, give it here,” Peter said after a moment of hesitation and Stiles handed it over. “I’ll bring them to my room, Derek will show you the way,” Peter told him and as if on cue a door opened to their right.

Peter didn’t even bother to properly introduce them, he just nodded at Derek and then left them.

Stiles didn’t watch Peter walk away, but instead he watched Derek. He was tall, maybe a bit taller than Peter, with dark hair and bright eyes.

Derek was eyeing him in return, and while he seemed wary, he obviously wasn’t afraid of Stiles.

“Are you really a witcher?” Derek asked, voice softer than Stiles would have guessed.

Stiles pointed at his eyes, yellow and slit like a cat’s, and let that be answer enough.

He was surprised when Derek held his gaze; usually people avoided looking at his eyes too long but Derek didn’t seem to mind.

“Are you going to kill the monster that killed my sister?” he asked, voice hard and Stiles was so very tired of being asked that question over and over again. Revenge never turned out well for anyone.

“If it was a creature, I’ll find and kill it,” he told Derek, who had started to lead them down the hallway, but who looked over at him at that.

“What do you mean, ‘if it was a creature’?” he demanded to know and Stiles shrugged, acutely aware of the missing weight on his back.

“I have found that real monsters are usually more humanoid than you’d think,” he said, thinking back to all the jobs he had worked where he was called for a monster only to expose a human.

“Would you kill a human?”

“If they were the reason your sister is dead? Without hesitation.”

“Would you kill an innocent human?” Derek inquired further, and Stiles briefly faltered in his step.

“If they were innocent, they would have nothing to fear from me,” he said once he’d found his footing again, and Derek side-eyed him.

This was not a topic he wanted to keep talking about.

“Do a lot of people fear you?” Derek went on to ask and Stiles smiled slightly.

He could tell that Derek was a bright young man, curious and inquisitive, but weighed down by grief at the moment.

“Most of them,” Stiles gave back with a shrug.

It was something he’d come to terms with some time ago.

“But if you don’t hurt innocent people, and come to their aid, why do they fear you?”

“Not all of them see the bigger picture. They just see that someone died, before I came in, and that I ask a lot of uncomfortable questions and that more people end up dead before I leave. It’s just how it is.”

“So more people will die here,” Derek said and he sounded glum.

“If they had a hand in killing your sister, yes.”

“You think it wasn’t a monster?” Derek wanted to know and stopped in front of a door.

“I don’t even really know what happened to your sister yet. I’ll have to look at the scene, get some recounts of how she was found.”

“I found her,” Derek told him and Stiles cursed inwardly.

It was always harder to question members of the deceased’s family.

“Then I’ll want to talk to you soon. Now, I think I was supposed to meet your mother?”

“She’s in there,” Derek replied and pointed at the door. “I don’t want to go back out into the woods,” he said, chin raised defiantly, as if Stiles would make him do it anyway.

“I’ll need to be undisturbed to look at the scene. I won’t bring you along,” he promised, and Derek’s shoulders slumped.

“What are you still doing out here?” Peter suddenly asked from behind Stiles, and Stiles was yet again reminded of the missing weight on his back, his fingers itching to at least raise up and touch the handle of his swords.

“Aren’t you a quiet one,” Stiles said while he turned around to Peter.

“Years of practice, sweetheart,” he gave back with a smirk, obviously pleased that he managed to creep up on Stiles.

Stiles couldn’t say the same. It was troubling that he hadn’t heard Peter at all and Stiles would need to keep an eye on that.

“Are you ready to meet my sister?” Peter asked him and Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“Is anyone, really,” he gave back, remembering all the stories Peter had told him about Talia, and Peter laughed.

“That’s a healthy attitude,” Peter approved and then opened the door to the study without knocking first.

Talia Hale, matriarch of the Hale family, was sitting behind her desk and obviously just waiting for them. She narrowed her eyes when she got a good look at Stiles, whose hackles immediately raised.

“A witcher?” she hissed at Peter who shrugged.

“I said I knew someone who could help. I don’t know what you were expecting, to be honest,” Peter told her, and he flopped down into a chair.

“Stiles, meet my sister. Talia, this is Stiles,” he introduced them with a handwave and Talia scowled even harder.

“The witcher you saved? What will he be able to do for us?”

“That was years back, when I was just a young, stupid boy. I’ve grown since then,” Stiles cut in, and wondered why people like Talia were still able to get under his skin.

It wasn’t like he was new to these reactions after all.

“Fine,” Talia said, like she was doing him a huge favour instead of the other way around, and turned her attention to him for the first time.

“My daughter was murdered,” she said and Stiles appreciated her direct approach.

“So I’ve heard. What exactly happened?”

“If we knew that, we wouldn’t have to deal with the likes of you,” Talia snapped at him, and that, Stiles didn’t appreciate at all.

“I’m here because I owe Peter, not you. So if I were you, I would be careful how you treat me, because I’m sure Peter can find something else for me to do,” Stiles gave back, voice hard and controlled. “I’m not getting paid for this, and frankly, I don’t care if you like me or not, but if you can’t work with me here, this is not going to go well.”

Talia tried to stare him down, but she had nothing on his previous trainer, and so Stiles just held her gaze until she sighed.

“We found her in the woods, a few nights ago,” Talia started and was immediately interrupted by Peter.

“Derek found her,” he said to Stiles and Talia glared at him. “He needs to know who was involved so far, he’s going to have questions,” Peter told her, but Talia didn’t seem happy about it.

“Fine,” she eventually relented. “Derek found her, not far from here. Torn to pieces, bite marks all over. Parts of her were missing.”

“Eaten?” Stiles asked and unlike Peter she answered him directly.

“We didn’t go looking for them, but I would assume so.”

Stiles didn’t bother pointing out that assuming things when it came to any kind of creature was the worst anyone could do. Talia was unlikely do listen to him anyway.

“Did you bury her?” he asked instead, and now Talia seemed _appalled_.

“Of course we buried her,” she said and Stiles suppressed a sigh. He hated digging up bodies.

“Do you need to look at her?” Peter asked quietly from his chair, and Stiles shrugged.

“Most likely. I’ll look at the murder scene first, see if it’s really necessary do dig her up.”

“You will not desecrate the grave of my daughter like that,” Talia said and slammed her hands down on the table.

“If you want me to find whoever did it, then I will have to,” Stiles told her evenly. “It happened during the night?”

“Yes, we saw her at dinner and found her body early in the morning,” Talia gave back, still fuming.

“Does that limit whatever could have done it?” Peter asked him

“It only rules out creatures that exclusively come out during the day, which are not many.”

“Can you tell us anything?” Talia snapped and Stiles didn’t bother to hide how he rolled his eyes.

“From here, without seeing the body, the place where it happened or talking to Derek? No,” he told her honestly and he mentally shook his head at her.

People didn’t like his abilities and then they expected miracles. It was always the same.

“Do you have a suspect?” he asked, instead of dwelling on that moot point.

Talia’s gaze immediately fell on Peter, who stiffened in his seat.

“Peter, why don’t you make sure his room is ready,” Talia asked him, voice suddenly saccharine sweet.

“Sure,” Peter mumbled and got up. “Find me outside after, I’ll give you your weapons back and show you to your room,” he said to Stiles as he passed him on his way out.

Stiles watched him leave and waited until the door fell shut again before turning back to Talia with a raised eyebrow.

“If you’d just asked him to leave, it would have been less suspicious,” he muttered and Talia threw him another glare.

“It was him,” she said decidedly, and Stiles was taken aback by the sudden hatred in her voice.

“You seem awfully sure about that,” Stiles said carefully.

“He went out that evening, and only showed up when Derek came back crying for help, obviously drunk. He threw up the whole morning,” Talia said as if that was proof enough.

“And you think it wasn’t just a normal evening out because...?”

“He only returned to the estate a few months prior,” Talia said instead of answering his question and took Stiles by surprise.

When he and Peter had parted all those years ago his plan had been to return home. Obviously that hadn’t happened.

“He changed; we don’t really know him anymore,” Talia went on. “He’s harder than he used to be.”

“A few years on the road will do that to you,” Stiles agreed. “But it doesn’t make him a murderer.”

“This is a matriarchal household. Laura would have taken over from me,” Talia said and she acted like that should explain everything.

“And?” Stiles questioned when it became clear she wouldn’t say more.

“He never liked that. He thinks he should get that position. Hated Laura for even being born.”

“Okay, but he knew that all along. First, how old was Laura? 25? That seems like an awfully long time to plan a murder, only to execute it this sloppily. And if he really didn’t like that thought he could have just stayed away and not return after his travels,” Stiles tried to reason, but Talia didn’t even listen to him.

“Do your witcher thing,” she said, condescension dripping from her words. “You’ll see that it was him. I hope you’re prepared to kill him like the monster he is.”

“I’ll find the creature that is responsible for the death of your daughter, don’t worry,” Stiles told her and moved towards the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look at the scene now.”

“Do what you think you have to,” Talia said with a handwave and dismissed him.

Stiles was glad to be out of that office; Talia was a thoroughly unpleasant person and he hoped to avoid her in the future.

Stiles went back the same way Derek lead him in and when he stepped outside of the house he found Peter on a bench in the sun, lazing around like a big cat.

“I see you haven’t changed,” Stiles said with a little smile and Peter blinked up at him.

“How did the talk with my beloved sister go?” he asked, voice full of sarcasm and Stiles shrugged.

“As well as you’d expect. She says you killed Laura,” Stiles told him, absolutely unconcerned.

He’ll find out who it was and if it was Peter, he’d deal with that then. The evidence would have been tampered with already anyway; after all Laura was already dead and buried.

“I know,” Peter sighed and then looked longingly at the horse stable. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t come back here,” he mumbled and then slapped his hands on his thighs before he got up.

“So, where to now?” he asked but Stiles didn’t move.

For the first time since he’d arrived he noticed his vibrating amulet and he narrowed his eyes at Peter.

“What?” Peter asked him when Stiles continued to stare at him.

“I never noticed it before, but something tells me you have magic,” Stiles told him, careful to categorize all his reactions and hands itching with the want to feel the weight of his swords in them, though he was certain he could also take Peter out with the dagger hidden in his boot if he really had to.

Peter snorted at that.

“Yeah, right. Hale’s have been killed for having magic, did you know that?” he asked Stiles and reached for the necklace he wore. “If I had magic, Talia wouldn’t have hesitated a second to kill me, too.”

Stiles subtly widened his stance, ready for an attack if one should come. Going by the smirk Peter threw him, he definitely noticed.

“It’s a protection charm,” he said and pulled the pendant out from his shirt. “I got it first thing when I left for the road. Can’t be too careful, can you?” Peter asked him and allowed Stiles to inspect the pendant.

It was vibrating with magic, clearly made by a powerful magic user and Stiles cursed himself. He had never noticed it before, and if Peter got it first thing when he left, he had already worn it when they met.

Stiles was surprised, not for the first time, that he had survived as long as he had; given how stupidly careless and reckless he had been when he was younger, Stiles should have died a long time ago.

“Having magic gets you killed but wearing magical pendants is fine?” he questioned instead of showing his inner turmoil to Peter who grinned at him.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he replied. “Or me, in this case.”

Stiles snorted at that. “You truly haven’t changed over the years,” he told Peter.

“I hope you have,” Peter gave back. “You were so naïve when I met you, I’m surprised you survived this long.”

“I had to learn a few things,” Stiles gave back shortly, not wanting to let Peter know that he had thought the same only a few moments ago.

“I think I can see that,” Peter gave back lowly and his eyes didn’t just linger on the new scars Stiles had.

“I’d like my weapons back, now,” Stiles said in an attempt to change the subject.

Feelings always made him itchy and talking about them was even worse. Maybe he could find a wolf in the forest he could kill, just to get rid of these feeling.

“Sure,” Peter replied easily enough. “Anything else?” he asked, and the way he looked at Stiles implied that he knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“Get Derek, too. I want to see where it happened,” he ordered and Peter made a mock bow in front of him.

“As the witcher commands,” he drawled and then sauntered off to get his nephew.

Stiles refused to watch him walk away and instead turned towards the stables, hoping that Roscoe hadn’t eaten anyone yet.

~*~

Derek turned out to be more difficult than Stiles had anticipated.

“I told you, I don’t want to go back there,” he said and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“And I won’t make you go to the exact spot. But I need to know where you walked and what you saw that stood out to you. I will look at the scene alone, and then I’ll need you to describe it to me,” Stiles explained, yet again, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“Derek, if you want to find whoever did that to Laura, you’re going to have to do this.”

“I thought he had these special senses. What would he need me for?” Derek hissed at his uncle and Stiles sighed.

“Standing right here, but okay. My senses work great, but I’d rather use them on Laura’s way into the woods, since you are still here and able to show me yourself,” he said.

“So you do have special senses,” Derek said, triumphantly, like he had uncovered a secret.

“Yes, I do,” Stiles gave back simply, and looked at Peter who shrugged apologetically.

“What can you do with them?” Derek asked, lighting up with the prospect of learning new things and Stiles couldn’t even begrudge him that curiosity.

He had been like that once, too.

“My senses are enhanced. I can hear, smell and see better than the average human. If I focus enough I can see even more,” Stiles explained and pointed at his eyes. “They don’t look like that because it’s pretty,” he shortly explained, and walked over to the woods, hoping that Derek and Peter would follow him.

“Cool,” Derek whispered and jogged up to him to walk next to Stiles. “What school do you belong to?”

“Can’t your uncle answer these questions? He traveled, he should have picked up something on his way,” Stiles asked, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t have to go into the history of his school.

“Uncle Peter never talks about his travels,” Derek pouted and at that Stiles turned to Peter.

“Never?” Stiles wanted to know and carefully noted the tension in Peter’s shoulders and how closed off his face suddenly was.

“No,” was the only reply he got from him and Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter.

He had always been secretive, but this was a whole new level of being shifty and Stiles couldn’t say he liked it.

“He only told us he knew a witcher when we needed one,” Derek explained. “He never told us before, even though it’s so cool that he knows you,” Derek rambled on and Stiles could already tell there would be more questions.

“I’ll answer three questions right now,” he said to Derek. “And then we’ll go into that forest and you will show me where you found Laura.”

“But you said I didn’t have to go there,” Derek protested and Peter was about to say something but Stiles was quicker.

“That was before you pestered me with all these questions. If you don’t want to ask anything, I’ll have Peter show me the place,” Stiles said and knew he had Derek.

He was too inquisitive to let this opportunity slide.

“Fine,” Derek eventually huffed. “What school do you belong to?” Derek asked again.

“School of the Cat,” Stiles shortly said, and hoped Derek didn’t want to know details.

“If you want me to show you, you’ll have to tell me more,” Derek declared, crossing his arms in front of his chest and didn’t move an inch.

“Are you sure he’s not your son?” Stiles asked Peter who just laughed at him.

“Wanting to know things runs in the family,” Peter easily gave back and Stiles rolled his shoulders.

“So does stubbornness apparently,” he muttered, but he turned back to Derek.

“What do you know about the schools?” Stiles asked him, because he wasn’t very keen on giving a history lesson.

“There are five, or six?” Derek said and frowned, as if he was trying hard to remember.

“Six,” Stiles supplied. “Cat, Griffin, Wolf, Viper, Bear and Manticore.”

“How did you end up with them?” Derek asked and Peter rolled his eyes, though he didn’t call him out on his many questions.

“They took me in,” Stiles simply said, having no desire to go into his family history or what happened to him before the school took him in. “If you get taken in by a school, there is extensive training, and ruthless mental and physical conditioning before you can finally take the trials. Seven out of ten boys die, and even if you survive, it’s excruciating, so more often than not the survivors lose themselves a little bit to the pain.”

“You went through the trials too?”

“Every witcher did. Without them we’re just skilled fighters. The trials give us the enhanced vision, long life, increased strength, and the ability to do magic. The School of the Cat was founded by witchers who were outcasts, witchers who, according to the School of the Wolf in Kaer Morhen, didn’t mutate in the right way. The dominant fighting style in our school is focused on speed, precision and agility. We’re the only school to accept women,” Stiles listed off and Derek frowned at him.

“That’s all?”

“You really want to waste one of your questions on that?” Stiles asked him in an attempt to focus him on something else.

Peter gave him a knowing look but he also didn’t interfere and Stiles still didn’t know if he liked that Peter knew all the things about his school or not. But then again, Peter had called him, so maybe the reputation of Stiles’ school didn’t matter all that much to him.

“Okay, then how did you and Peter meet? And why did you come when he asked you to?”

“Two questions, Derek,” Peter chided, as if he was personally offended that his nephew wasn’t being careful with his questions.

“Two questions, same story,” Stiles said, letting it slide, because he was too relieved that Derek wasn’t asking after his school anymore.

“We met a few years back,” Stiles started and sat down on the ground.

“So when Peter was still young and handsome, unlike now,” Derek interrupted and startled Stiles into a laugh.

“Hey,” Peter said. “I’m still handsome now,” he protested but he couldn’t help the small smile around his mouth.

“Let’s just say he was different then,” Stiles tried but was immediately interrupted by Derek again.

“Was he naïve back then? I can’t imagine that he always was this confident.”

This question reminded Stiles that apparently Peter had spent the majority of Derek’s life on the road, and he wondered what else Peter had encountered out there. The roads weren’t safe.

“I was the naïve one,” Stiles admitted and that brought Derek’s attention right back to him. “I had just went through the mutations and it was my first year on the road. I was naïve, and stupid, and thought I was so strong and clever.”

“You were young and inexperienced,” Peter softly said and Stiles shrugged.

“So were you, and yet I owe you my life.”

“You saved his life?” Derek asked, curiosity written all over his face.

“I took on a striga,” Stiles explained and at Derek’s confused look he went into detail. “A striga is a cursed woman. They turn into a monster, filled with hatred towards all living beings, and devouring them without a second thought. They can be cured, but to do that you have to keep them from returning to their coffin. Killing them is usually easier.”

“Striga’s are huge,” Peter chimed in. “Muscular and vicious, and their only goal is to kill anything in sight. I had heard about such a case, and just wanted to take a look at the striga. I was curious and thought it would make for a good story,” he said with a shrug at Derek’s incredulous gaze.

“We met on the way there and I couldn’t stop him from traveling with me when I told him where I was going,” Stiles went on. “He made for good company, inquisitive and interested in everything, and I liked to brag about all the minor monsters I had taken out.”

“When we came to the village where the striga supposedly was, he rushed in without forming a proper plan,” Peter said and Stiles couldn’t even protest because it was true.

“I thought it would be easy,” he told Derek. “I had killed before and thought this would be the same, but striga’s are different. They are fast, and huge, well-muscled, with teeth and claws so sharp they can easily tear a man apart. I was cocky.”

“The striga came up on him from behind, tearing into his side,” Peter took over again and Stiles could still feel the claws rip through his skin and flesh.

He raised his hand almost on instinct, resting it over his stomach, where the scars were still prominent. Peter gave him a knowing look but didn’t comment on it and instead went on with the story. 

“I distracted her long enough for Stiles to cut her head off before he fell unconscious.”

“Peter took me to the nearest tavern to heal and told me that he would one day ask for a favour. Since I owed him my life I couldn’t even protest. I’ve waited for the other shoe to drop ever since.”

“How long did you travel together?” Derek asked, and Stiles didn’t have the heart to remind him that it was another question.

“Two months maybe? The details are a bit hazy now,” Stiles admitted and Peter nodded.

“It was a long time ago,” Peter agreed. “Though you wouldn’t know by looking at Stiles. He hasn’t aged all that much.”

Before Derek could ask Stiles explained.

“Witchers age slower. Something to do with the mutations. Technically I’m a year older than Peter.”

“No way!” Derek gasped. “You look even younger than Laura. How long do you live?”

“Longer than you and me,” Peter said, and there was a bitterness to his words that Stiles couldn’t understand but apparently Derek picked up on it too, because he didn’t ask any further questions on that matter and instead changed the topic.

“Tell me another one of your stories,” Derek said and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “It must be so rewarding to kill these monsters.”

Stiles could feel Peter stiffen at his side, but he didn’t interrupt and Stiles could feel the anger in him bubbling up again.

“You think this is fun?” he hissed at Derek. “You think it’s as clear cut as going out and killing a monster and be done with it? You understand nothing.”

Derek turned questioning eyes at Peter, but he was looking at Stiles and Stiles knew he had changed, knew he was a lot harder than he used to be and it seemed that finally Peter seemed to realize it too.

“Stiles, maybe we should go now,” Peter tried but Stiles cut him off.

“He asked a question, Peter,” Stiles said and Derek flinched back at the venom in his voice. “So let’s tell him a story. How about that time I had to dig up a baby so it couldn’t haunt his parents anymore? Or maybe you want to hear about the Crones, who pretend to bestow favours upon certain villages and then go and eat their young men? Or how they take in orphans and fatten them up before they eat them too? You think it’s rewarding going up against a monster twice your size with a mouth so large it could devour you whole? You think going against something you can’t even see, but possesses people to kill those around them and hurt themselves until it drives them to suicide is _fun_?” Stiles spit out.

“Stiles,” Peter snapped and his voice was sharp but Stiles wouldn’t be deterred.

“Oh I know. Here’s a story for you. I once met a woman who cursed her sister’s husband, turning him into a werewolf and then tricking him into killing his own wife, all because she was jealous.”

Derek had turned pale but he still met Stiles’ gaze head on. If Stiles wasn’t so angry right now he’d have to admit the boy had guts.

“Did you kill the werewolf?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Stiles asked, and suddenly he was tired. “The werewolf wasn’t the monster here. I let him kill his sister-in-law and I hope he’ll live a long, happy life.”

“That’s enough,” Peter said and Stiles turned away from them.

“You’re right. Let’s look at the place where your niece and sister was torn apart instead.”

“I’m not going,” Derek declared immediately and Stiles turned around, aware that his eyes were blazing.

“You better be going. You don’t go back on a deal, not with a witcher,” Stiles threatened and he noticed the subtle way Peter widened his stance.

Derek blanched further but he didn’t cower before Stiles.

It hurt that Peter thought him capable of hurting his nephew, but Stiles reminded himself that no matter how close they had been during those days on the road, they didn’t know each other. Not anymore.

“I’ll show you the way, but I won’t enter the clearing. Not again,” Derek stated and Stiles sighed.

He would need to hear where exactly they found Laura, but he couldn’t bring himself to push Derek further.

“I was the first to get there,” Peter suddenly chimed in. “He called me first. I can tell you.”

“Alright, fine. Show me where you went,” Stiles said to Derek, who squared his shoulders and marched off.

“Talk me through it, try to remember as many details as you can,” Stiles instructed him but Derek just shrugged.

“It was barely dawn, everything was still dark, and I don’t really remember anything. There was nothing that stood out to me, at all, until I entered the clearing.”

“Did you notice anything besides your dead sister there?” Stiles asked, and when Peter threw him an incredulous look, Stiles shrugged.

Someone had been murdered. There was no time for tact.

“No,” Derek whispered. “I was too focused on the body parts of my sister all thrown around,” Derek pressed out, and even Stiles didn’t know what to say to that.

“This is as far as I go,” Derek suddenly said and stopped dead in his tracks. “The clearing is right there,” he pointed ahead, and Stiles could already see it.

“Fine. One last question,” he said and turned to Derek. “What were you doing out here at the crack of dawn?” he asked and Derek shuffled his feet.

“Derek!” someone suddenly yelled from behind them and Stiles spun around, hand instinctively going up to the handle of his sword but it was only a girl.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, because it was one thing that Peter was able to sneak up on him, but a second person? Either he was losing his edge or something was up with both of them.

When she came closer he saw that it was actually a woman, not a girl, but he lowered his hand anyway.

“Kate,” Derek piped up from Stiles’ side and immediately walked towards her. “Uncle Peter can show you the rest, right? You don’t need me anymore?” he asked belatedly and broke into a blinding smile when Peter waved him off.

He waited until Kate and Derek were out of sight before he turned around to Stiles.

“I believe he was doing her,” he drily said and Stiles snorted.

“Who is she?” Stiles asked and Peter shrugged.

“She showed up a few weeks back, told Talia a story that allowed her to stay. I never really looked further into it, but she doesn’t seem dangerous. She helps in the house and obviously Derek is very happy to have her around,” Peter explained and Stiles hummed.

He would have time to check out all the people living at the estate. Kate’s sudden appearance might make her suspicious, but he’d have to look into it further.

There was another matter he had to address first.

“Talia said you were drunk that day, stayed out the whole night before and threw up in the morning,” Stiles said and watched Peter closely.

Peter frowned at him.

“I was hangover when I came here and I only threw up after I dealt with my niece, who was torn to pieces, and my nephew, who was traumatized,” Peter curtly gave back.

“Okay,” Stiles said, taking the statement for what it was but Peter didn't let it go.

“You believe my sister when she says it was me?”

“Peter,” Stiles started but Peter interrupted him.

“She thinks something is wrong with me,” he told Stiles and the bitterness was clear in his voice.

“And is there?” Stiles asked, and fought to keep an even voice, because dear god, did he not like Talia.

“What the fuck do you think?” Peter snapped at him and then rubbed his forehead.

“I'm sorry,” Peter said. “She thinks I have no emotions, that I'm only out for myself. It's hard to deal with sometimes,” he admitted, and he seemed tired.

Just as tired as Stiles always felt.

“I know. I know how it feels when people say you're not human, so you can't have emotions like humans do,” Stiles told him. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Peter gave back. “It's just really hard.”

“Yes, it is,” Stiles agreed and then asked, “Peter, how long have you been on the road?”

Peter seemed to know immediately what Stiles was aiming for.

“Too long. But I did go back home like I said when I left you in the tavern. It's just, my parents died two years later and with Talia leading,” he shrugged. “It was easier to just go back on the road.”

“Why come back at all then?” Stiles wanted to know.

“I was in the area. I’ve only been home for three months now. I didn't intend to stay for much longer but then this happened,” Peter answered and nodded his head at the clearing.

“So you're going to leave again,” Stiles stated and Peter nodded.

“I can't stay here,” Peter quietly said. “Not with Talia and, well, you saw how she is around me.”

He seemed sad about it, and Stiles remembered how he had talked about his family when they were sitting around fires at night. Peter was a family man, no matter what he might want anyone else to believe and it must hurt him, to be so openly hated by his own sister.

“Yeah,” Stiles said and thought back to all the places he would have liked to stay in longer, but how the mistrust and hate had eventually chased him away.

It wasn’t a happy thing to think about, and he’d much rather deal with a murder than that.

“Alright. Show me the clearing?” he asked Peter, who readily led the way.

It didn’t look like someone had recently died here, but Stiles could still smell the blood and the ground was torn up in places.

“Describe it to me,” he ordered Peter.

He wanted to know what Peter remembered before he looked around himself.

Peter swallowed once but readily started to talk.

“There were several parts,” he said and pointed at different places. “Her torso was here, one leg was over there. Her guts were strewn all over the place,” Peter whispered and Stiles thought for a moment he would get sick, but he got himself back under control.

“There were bite marks on her chest and on her left arm, but her arm and leg were torn from her body.” He took sighed. “Does that narrow it down at all?” he asked and Stiles shook his head.

“Not really, but we’ll find whatever or whoever did that,” Stiles promised.

“Okay,” Stiles said then and clapped his hands before he pointed at the path they had come from. “Go stand over there,” he instructed and Peter went without complaint.

He still remembered how Stiles worked.

Stiles faced the clearing again and focused his sight, letting his enhanced vision take over. Suddenly he could see the blood he had only smelt earlier and he could tell where exactly the body parts had laid. Peter hadn’t been lying.

What he hadn’t mentioned, probably because it wasn’t visible to human eyes, was the footprint in one of the blood pools.

“It was a werewolf,” Stiles declared and Peter came closer again, decidedly paler than before, but at Stiles questioning glance he just shrugged.

“Really?”

“There’s a footprint right there,” Stiles pointed at the ground. “It fits with what you described, too,” Stiles mused.

“So we find who turns into the werewolf and kill them, right?” Peter asked and Stiles remembered that too.

While Peter was good at research, he didn’t enjoy it. He preferred to have something to do, a hands-on approach and it brought a small smile to Stiles’ face.

“Yes,” he slowly said, but he wasn’t sure it was as clear cut as that. It rarely was these days.

“Who’s the next in line for head of the house?” inquired and Peter frowned at him, so Stiles elaborated. “If Talia would die tomorrow, who would take over?”

“Cora is the successor now, but she’s too young still, barely ten,” Peter said. “I’d take over that position until Cora is of age.”

“Mh,” Stiles hummed and he could almost see Peter’s hackles go up.

“You think I did this?” he asked, voice hard but Stiles could clearly hear the hurt underneath. “You think I killed my niece to temporarily take over as head of the house?”

“Who said you’d stop at Laura?” Stiles asked but before Peter could blow up at him he raised his hand, silencing him. “No, I don’t think you did this,” he reassured Peter. “But it’s a thought that comes to you easily. Maybe too easily. Where’s Cora now? Is she being protected?”

“Of course she is,” Peter told him. “Talia nearly freaked out when we found Laura, you don’t really believe she would leave her last remaining daughter unprotected.”

“There’s no protection on Derek,” Stiles pointed out and Peter rolled his eyes at him.

“He’s not a successor, Talia thinks he’s in no danger.”

“And Talia? Does she have protection?”

“Have you met my sister?” Peter asked with a scoff. “Of course she does not. She laughed in my face when I suggested it.”

“Great, so she can be attacked anytime, that’s just perfect. We’ll have to talk to her again.”

“Because that’s going to be fun,” Peter mumbled and turned around to walk the same way back.

“Wait,” Stiles called out. “I want to take Laura’s path first. Do you know where she was seen last?”

“Everyone said the last time they saw here was at the tavern,” Peter answered and Stiles cursed.

There were too many people there, he would never be able to pick out Laura’s trail.

“Alright, we’ll do it backwards then,” he decided and Peter laughed.

“When have you ever done something the right way?” he fondly asked, and Stiles punched him in the shoulder.

“Shut up. My way works.”

“When I’m there to help you, sure,” Peter gave back and Stiles realized he’d missed this.

Company in general, but especially Peter, with his banter and sharp mind.

“I survived this long alone, didn’t I?” Stiles asked him and suddenly Peter was serious again.

“And you look worse for wear, sweetheart,” he gave back and Stiles abruptly turned away from him.

This was one of the things he hadn’t missed, this concern and the easy endearments from Peter. At least that was what he told himself.

“I am still as handsome as ever,” Stiles forced himself to say, even though he felt old and weary and was certain it must show. “Let’s get going.”

Stiles thought he heard Peter say “You are,” but before he could turn back around to him, Peter was stepping up at his side.

“Do your magic then,” he said and Stiles went back to work.

It was easier than thinking about this.

Retracing Laura’s steps didn’t bring any new revelations. There were no disturbances along the way and they came out of the woods right behind the tavern, which supported what all the eyewitnesses had said.

Stiles knew he should go back and see if he could find out where the werewolf had come from, but it was late already and he was tired. Since it wasn’t that pressing, the scene had already been disturbed after all, and one more day wouldn’t make a difference, he decided to just retire for the day.

“Have there been any strange sightings?” he asked Peter who walked him to his room.

“You mean like werewolves? I think we’d have mentioned that at one point,” Peter gave back and smirked at Stiles.

“You’re an asshole, at least that hasn’t changed,” Stiles muttered and Peter’s smirk got even bigger. “Any strange sounds, shapes in the woods, missing sheep, scared villagers?” Stiles listed off but Peter shook his head.

“These woods are safe, nothing has happened here in years.”

“That’s what I gathered,” Stiles said, thinking back to all the conversations he had on his way here. “Maybe the werewolf went on to other woods, since there hasn’t been an incident since that night,” Stiles thought out loud and Peter nodded.

“It would make sense. How are you gonna find it then, though? Because Talia won’t be happy with that explanation.”

“No idea yet,” Stiles sighed and turned around to face the person who was just coming around the corner.

“I forgot how convenient that can be,” Peter mumbled at his side and Stiles elbowed him in the stomach.

“Lady Talia wants to see you both,” the man told them and Peter groaned.

“Speak of the devil,” Stiles muttered but dragged Peter along. “Come on, I want to get this behind me, I can hear the bed calling me.”

They followed the man to Talia’s office and Peter gently bumped their shoulders together before they entered. Stiles was grateful for the show of solidarity when he saw Talia’s furious expression.

“You’re from the School of the Cat,” she immediately said, and never has anything felt more like an accusation.

Stiles wished that just once people wouldn’t judge him by the school he came from. It wasn’t like he had chosen to be taken in by them.

“I am,” Stiles gave back calmly, because this was a situation he knew how to handle.

“You’re from the school that caused the massacre at the tournament, betraying the School of the Wolf and slaughtering them all” Talia went on and Stiles interrupted her right there.

“A tournament I wasn’t even at, so maybe you shouldn’t blame me for that personally.”

“All of your witchers are psychotic,” she accused him and Stiles barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Going through the mutations changes you. It changes everything about you, so that you’re not even the same person at the end. That comes with a lot of pain, and not everyone can deal with that. Sometimes it kills the boys and sometimes they come out of it damaged.”

“And you?”

“I can handle pain just fine,” Stiles shortly said. “It didn’t drive me mad.”

“But an abnormally large number from your school did become psychotic. Your school was founded by witchers banished from the School of the Wolf, and you want me to trust you?” Talia asked him.

“The school was founded centuries ago, I hardly had anything to do with that,” Stiles snapped at her, so sick of people accusing him of things that happened long before his time.

“Tell me then, witcher,” and Stiles had forgotten how much that title could sound like a curse, like an insult, “have you killed humans?”

“Yes.”

His honest answer left Talia speechless for a second and Stiles went on.

“I know that the School of Cat is known for killing humans, that some of us are barely more than hired assassins, but you have to admit,” and here he leaned forward, making sure that his eyes were glowing just a bit, “that some of you deserve it.”

Talia gasped and Peter chuckled.

“I never killed an innocent, not that I know of at least. I don’t appreciate you insinuating anything else.”

“Were you this flexible with your morals as a kid too? Is that why they took you in?” Talia asked but now Peter stepped in.

Stiles was glad for it, because he didn’t know if he could let this slide. His childhood had nothing to do with who he was now.

“Oh please, Talia,” Peter sneered. “Don’t pretend like you’re not flexible with your morals when it suits you.”

Talia threw a murderous glare at him but Peter didn’t stop.

“Don’t think I forgot how you betrayed Deucalion, when it was convenient for you. There were benefits to that for you, and you threw your precious morals away the second you saw it.”

“How dare you,” Talia hissed and Peter smiled sweetly at her. “You knew which school he belonged to and you brought him here,” she went on and pointed an accusing finger at Peter.

“Of course I know which school he comes from,” Peter said. “It doesn’t change who he is.”

“And what is he, huh? A murderous bastard who is barely even human. Who will turn against humans the moment he sees fit, going by his brethren.”

“That’s enough,” Stiles cut in. “I’m here because I owe Peter, and that’s it. If you don’t want my help tell me and I’ll leave. Otherwise, shut up and let me do my job,” he calmly stated and stared Talia down.

He could hear her grinding her teeth but when she didn’t immediately tell him to leave, he knew that she wouldn’t. The death of her daughter was eating at her and she wanted answers. The means didn’t really matter in that case, Stiles knew that from experience.

Talia might not like him, or where he came from, but she would gladly utilize him.

“Fine,” she eventually relented. “You can stay.”

“How generous of you,” Stiles said mockingly and made a small bow before he turned around without another word.

Peter was hot on his heels, and when the door closed behind them he said, “That was awesome. I forgot about that.”

“Forgot about what?” Stiles asked and rubbed his temple.

Dealing with people like Talia always tired him out.

“I forgot that not everyone knows you as the clumsy witcher, who barely kept his head over water. I saw you struggle with monsters and I saved your life, and I sometimes forget that people actually fear you, and for good reason.”

“I never gave you a reason to fear me,” Stiles muttered and Peter squeezed his arm.

“I know,” he gave back and dropped his hand. “But that’s because I have more common sense than most other people,” he cheekily said.

“Maybe you’re just too dumb to sense the danger you’re in, hanging out with me,” Stiles gave back, pointedly not thinking about the fact that Peter had never, not once, feared him.

“Doubtful,” Peter easily replied and winked at Stiles. “Now come on, dinner should be ready by now.”

~*~*~

Interrogating people was not Stiles’ favourite thing to do.

People were vague, or too detailed, and more often than not so hostile that Stiles thought it was a wonder anyone was even talking to him at all.

Talking to everyone who lived and worked at the estate took Stiles almost three days and after that he wanted to never again speak to another person, which was of course when Peter found him.

“I heard you were done,” he said and Stiles shook his head.

“Where would you even hear something like that,” he muttered and then flopped down on his bed.

He didn’t care that it was against the scary witcher persona everyone thought he had, but apparently it was amusing to Peter, who laughed quietly, even though he had seen Stiles in even more undignified situations.

“What’s the verdict?” Peter asked and sprawled out on the chair Stiles had next to his bed.

“Well, I could tell you who’s stealing money from you, and I am now very aware of who is fucking who everywhere, but since you surely don’t want to know all this gossip, I have nothing for you,” Stiles gave back and Peter frowned.

“Nothing at all?”

“People saw Laura leave the tavern, and everyone tells the same story about that, so I’m inclined to believe it. She left, slightly drunk, and walked out into the woods, for reasons unknown. No one saw anyone follow her, and the next thing she’s dead and you’re acting strangely.”

“If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to assume you think I did it,” Peter remarked and Stiles shrugged as best as he could, lying down like this.

“It’s what people tell me. People don’t trust you, you’ve been on the road too long.”

“And I miss it dearly,” Peter sighed.

“So why not go back?”

“Now? So that everyone can believe I did it and then fled the scene? I don’t think so.”

“Smart,” Stiles said, but to be honest, he hadn’t expected anything else.

“I asked around too, no one has seen or heard anything strange in the woods since that night. No new attacks, no missing cattle, not even a scared dog.”

At that Stiles finally sat up.

“Yeah, I know. Roscoe’s been out every night, but nothing spooked her either. I don’t know where that damn wolf went.”

“Roscoe has been out every night since you came here?” Peter asked and was staring at Stiles.

“Yes? She doesn’t like being in stables and she’s fast enough to get away from a werewolf if she comes across one. I need to have some help,” Stiles told him and startled when Peter started to laugh.

“Oh my god,” he said, once he had some breath to talk. “And the stable boys thought she disappeared right out of her stable every night. They have bets going if she just melts back into the shadows or if she can walk through walls.”

“She’s a horse,” Stiles flatly said. “Why would she be able to do that?”

“She’s a demon horse,” Peter gave back and started to laugh again.

“Dear gods,” Stiles muttered. “She’s not a demon horse. She’s a normal horse that I trained very well.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at her.

“She’s terrifying and I like to cling to the thought that there’s a reason for it, other than your training. She’s a demon horse,” he said to Stiles and then waved his hand. “Besides, it’s keeping the stable boys on their toes, I have never seen them work more efficiently.”

“You are a horrible person, Peter,” Stiles said but couldn’t help his smile.

“And you like it that way,” Peter replied with a wink and then got up. “What now?”

“I’ll have to spend some time in the woods. Since I didn’t find a cavern or hole where the werewolf regularly returns to I’ll have to see if I can find it by just walking around.”

“I thought you lost its trail after a few miles?”

“I did. But that was during the day. I’ll check it out at night, too, see if I can find something else, get a hint or something.”

“You just want to bow out of dinner with the family,” Peter accused him and Stiles smirked.

“Guilty, but still. It’s necessary. And before you ask,” he quickly added, because he could already see Peter opening his mouth, “I won’t need any help at all. So nice of you to offer, though.”

“I hate you,” Peter grumbled. “Without you at dinner there won’t be a buffer, and Talia’s disdain will be on me again.”

“And I couldn’t be sadder about that,” Stiles easily replied and then quickly danced out of the way when Peter aimed for his shoulder.

“Hey, no hurting the help you called.”

“Hurting is a bit dramatic wouldn’t you say,” Peter gave back with a sigh. “You’ll go out tonight?”

“Yeah, I want to find this werewolf and be done.”

“Not enjoying my company?” Peter asked but Stiles couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Not enjoying the company of your sister, and the fact that there’s a murdering werewolf on the loose,” Stiles corrected and it was almost like Peter lit up at that.

Stiles decided not to think too much about the light feeling in his chest.

“Okay, but let me know the second you get back,” Peter demanded.

“Are you worried about me?” Stiles teased, and promptly sobered up at the serious glance Peter gave him.

“The last time I had my back to you, you nearly got torn to pieces. So yes, I would feel better if you had someone with you.”

“I survived years without you after that,” Stiles gave back and Peter caught his hand, dragging his fingers over a scar there that started on the back of Stiles’ hand and went almost all the way up to his elbow.

“I’d prefer it if you came back without new ones,” Peter said lowly.

Stiles shivered at the feeling of warm hands against his skin but after a second, or five, he remembered himself and quickly snatched his hand back. Peter didn’t stop him but he also didn’t step out of his personal space.

“Tell me when you get back,” he demanded again and this time Stiles nodded.

“I will,” he quietly said and while Peter seemed not particularly happy, he seemed at least a little satisfied by that.

“I’ll excuse you with Talia. Not that she will be particularly sad about you not being there,” Peter said and finally stepped back and Stiles felt like he could breathe again.

“I’ll be there for breakfast,” Stiles promised and then walked out on Peter, before either of them could do anything stupid.

What exactly that would be, Stiles didn’t know, but he felt safer walking away all the same.

He had missed Peter, more than once during the past years, but this, this was not something he had missed at all. Peter had a knack for putting him into these situations where Stiles didn’t know how to act at all, where he felt unsure and wrong footed and Stiles couldn’t say that he enjoyed that.

Being out in the woods, hunting, was more his element and Stiles reveled in the quiet it brought him. Here he didn’t have to think, or talk, or dissect emotions. He just had to walk, and look around and rely on his instincts.

That first night didn’t bring him any closer to finding the werewolf, but it wasn’t a wasted night. Stiles felt better than he had in days.

When he came back to the estate, he saw Peter already waiting for him at the door, and Stiles refused to acknowledge that he walked a bit faster. Peter greeted him with a smile, but Stiles was momentarily distracted when he saw a mop of blonde hair vanish around a corner.

“What?” Peter asked him and followed his gaze.

“Nothing, I’m sure,” Stiles told him but made sure to remember to find out how many blondes were currently at the estate.

It could be nothing, but in his line of work, nothing usually turned out to be something.

“I’m starving,” Stiles said and focused back on Peter.

“Good thing breakfast is ready then,” he gave back and led Stiles away.

He didn’t talk about dinner the night before, and Stiles didn’t ask. He wasn’t comfortable with Talia and her open disdain for Peter, and he didn’t want to know what was going on when he wasn’t there.

“Did you find anything?” Peter asked him as Stiles was spreading the butter on his bread.

“No,” Stiles said around the huge bite he took and Peter scrunched up his nose. “But I can see you’re still too sensitive about certain matters,” Stiles said, still chewing on his bread.

“It’s called having manners,” Peter shortly gave back. “Not that you have ever heard of such a thing.”

“My only companion is a horse, I don’t know what you expected,” Stiles said and laughed when Peter frowned.

Stiles laughed until Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please close your mouth,” he said with a sigh, and Stiles rolled his eyes but complied.

“Fine. You’re no fun anymore.”

“Are you going out again this night?” Peter asked instead of arguing with Stiles.

“Sure. It’s only three more nights until the full moon. I’ll be out every night.”

“Can I at least accompany you during the full moon? It gets stronger then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does, and no, you cannot. I don’t want you out there during the night,” Stiles told him, shuddering at the thought of having to look after Peter and maybe failing.

“I can hold my own,” Peter gave back, clearly picking up on Stiles’ thoughts.

“Maybe,” Stiles acquiescent, “but I’d rather not risk it.”

“Whatever,” Peter grumbled. “You gonna turn in for the day?”

“Yeah, I’m beat. I’ll grab a quick snack before I go out,” Stiles said, not wanting to outright invite Peter to keep him company, but still hoping he would offer it himself.

“Good, I’ll find you,” Peter said promptly, and Stiles repressed a smile.

They both enjoyed the company of the other too much, it seemed.

The next night Stiles had barely been out for two hours when he heard something big crash through the underbrush.

He threw up his shield, the magic crackling around him, while he gripped his silver sword. He kept the shield up, turning with the sound of breaking branches and he focused his vision.

The werewolf was there, and it was huge.

Stiles wasn’t sure he had ever seen one so big, but it didn’t matter. If it was the one who had killed Laura, he would kill it anyway.

“Hey, mutt,” Stiles called out, and the werewolf came to an abrupt stop. “Why don’t you come closer so I can see your big teeth?”

The werewolf stayed frozen for another second before it suddenly leapt at Stiles. It crashed against the shield, which burst under the impact, throwing the werewolf back and Stiles pursued it, sword slicing through the air. The werewolf got his bearings back faster than Stiles had anticipated, and it darted out of reach again.

Stiles called on his magic again, summoning the shield a second time, but the werewolf stayed carefully out of reach and it didn’t seem like it was eager to come into contact with it yet again.

“Come on, wolfie,” Stiles mumbled, certain that the werewolf could hear him. “What are you up to, huh?”

The werewolf only growled at Stiles, which was a bit strange. They usually had no problems talking back at him.

“Cat got your tongue?” Stiles asked and the werewolf bared his teeth.

It seemed too clever to come closer while the shield was still up, and so Stiles pulled it around himself, dropping the very obvious golden globe and instead wrapping the shield around his form. The moment the shield was apparently dropped the werewolf lunged for him again, and Stiles cursed monsters with human intelligence. It always made fighting them that much harder.

He ducked under the werewolf’s claws, and brought his sword up, but the werewolf was already gone again, only to attack him from behind. Stiles barely managed to block his attack, and he swiped around to kick him in the face. The werewolf stumbled back, but it didn’t seem hurt, only stunned, and even that only lasted for a few seconds.

It growled at Stiles again, who took a better look, now that they were circling each other, trying to find anything that would help him identify the human who turned into the werewolf.

There was a piece of cloth tied around the werewolf’s wrist, but Stiles couldn’t make out the colour in the dark.

The werewolf roared again and made to attack Stiles once more, who blocked its swipe with his bare arm, trusting his shield to hold that much and instantly brought his sword around. He finally hit the werewolf, cutting its arm, and the werewolf howled at the pain. Stiles tried to keep going but the werewolf kept its distance after that, never coming closer and never attacking Stiles again.

“Are you scared of a little bit of pain?” Stiles asked it and the werewolf shook his head with a low growl.

“I guess killing Laura was easier, since she had no way of defending herself,” Stiles went on and the werewolf ducked down, like it was expecting a new attack.

When Stiles took a step forward the werewolf suddenly turned around and fled, too fast for Stiles to follow.

He tracked it down anyway, hoping to find out where it was hiding during the nights it didn’t cause any troubles and while the werewolf was very good at covering its tracks it still left behind his scent, and Stiles could track that as easily as he could footprints.

Something about the werewolf’s scent seemed familiar, but Stiles couldn’t pinpoint it. It was too diluted by the natural gross werewolf smell.

Stiles followed it for almost two hours, and he cursed when he realized that the werewolf was leading him in circles. It certainly didn’t seem stupid, and that alone ruled out a good number of people Stiles had talked to.

Stiles was still following the scent trail when dawn broke and he frowned when the trail cut off near the stables of the Hale estate. The sun was almost coming up, so it would be time for the werewolf to turn back to human, and it seemed like the human did reside at the Hale’s.

Stiles followed the trail into the stables, where too many scents were mingling with the werewolf trail and he cursed when he realized he had lost it.

Stiles still circled the stable, hoping that maybe he’d catch a glimpse of the human who would no doubt stumble out of it at one point but nothing even moved and eventually Stiles had to admit defeat.

At least now he knew that the werewolf was from the Hale estate. It still didn’t explain why it hadn’t roamed the forest every night, but it was at least something.

When Stiles had put most of his weapons down in his room, Peter found him again. He looked like hell, much worse than Stiles actually, and Stiles frowned at him.

“What happened to you?” he asked and Peter’s jaw cracked when he yawned.

“Nightmares,” he offhandedly said and sat down in the same chair as the other day.

Stiles didn’t pry any further, nightmares were horrible to deal with and Stiles didn’t want to drag them up again.

“I found it,” he told Peter instead, which immediately made Peter alert.

“Are you okay?” he asked, obviously worried, and looked Stiles up and down, checking for injuries.

“I’m fine,” Stiles reassured him. “I got a hit in, but it’s clever.”

“Can you track it by injury? Shouldn’t the human still have that?”

It was a good thought but Stiles shook his head.

“No, it would have already healed by now. Werewolf healing is at least as fast as witcher healing and many injuries get healed when the werewolf turns back on top of that, so there shouldn’t be an injury left now.”

“Damn,” Peter whispered and Stiles wholeheartedly agreed.

“But it did come back to this estate, so the human most certainly lives or works here,” Stiles said, in an attempt to cheer Peter up.

“How is that possible?” Peter asked. “Shouldn’t you have noticed that the very first night? The human has to turn every night, right?” he asked and there was something in Peter’s tone that brought Stiles up short, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Technically yes,” Stiles agreed and Peter narrowed his eyes at him.

“Technically?” he asked and Stiles tilted his head.

“I have heard of some tales where the werewolf was controlled by someone else. Magically,” Stiles explained and Peter frowned.

“But how is that possible?”

“It’s not easy, that’s for sure. They used the Axii rune,” Stiles said, and absentmindedly made the hand movement. “It’s normally used to temporarily influence someone, make them believe they _want_ to do something for you, even though they don’t. But if a powerful mage used that rune they can suppress or cause a change.”

“So there would have to be a powerful mage here, and they would have to stay with the cursed human at all times during the night,” Peter summed up, and Stiles sighed.

And that was exactly why this theory was so shitty and why he’d only heard of something like this once.

It was beyond impractical.

“Exactly.”

“But you said there’s no one with magic here,” Peter muttered and then hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, but refrained.

“There isn’t. There are a few people who have magic here; Kate, by the way, is one of them, but it’s not much they have. Your amulet has more magic than them,” he said with a nod to Peter’s necklace.

“Kate has magic?” Peter asked and he seemed concerned. “Could she hurt Derek with it?”

“Theoretically, yes. But why would she?” Stiles asked.

Kate had seemed like a perfectly normal girl; maybe a bit too interested in Stiles and his craft, curiosity like that usually only came from children, but nice nonetheless.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I don’t think I like her much,” Peter added and that had Stiles confused.

“You said you didn’t know her all that well,” he recalled their conversation at the clearing. “What changed?”

“I’m not sure,” Peter gave back. “I caught her creeping places she has no business being in. She always has a perfect excuse or plays dumb, but something rubs me the wrong way about her.”

That had Stiles worried.

Peter was good at reading people, had a knack for figuring them out, and if Kate was worrying him, Stiles definitely should keep an eye on her.

“I’ll watch her more closely,” Stiles promised and Peter nodded his thanks.

“Now, you ready for breakfast?” Peter then asked, and right on cue Stiles stomach grumbled.

“Hell, yes, I’m starving.”

“Follow me then, I saved you some,” Peter said with a wink and led the way out of Stiles’ room.

When Stiles followed him he caught a scent that was so purely Peter that it took Stiles a second to realize why it caught his attention now.

It was the scent the werewolf had carried with him.

“Hey,” Stiles said abruptly, turning Peter around with a hand to his elbow. “Have some of your clothes gone missing?”

“What?” Peter asked, confused by this sudden question. “I threw some out recently, why?”

“The werewolf had a piece of clothing wrapped around his wrist,” Stiles said slowly, wondering why it would do that, absentmindedly tapping Peter’s wrist in the process. “It smelled like you.”

“Like me? But why?” Peter inquired and Stiles wished to know that as well.

“I’m not sure yet,” he muttered, deep in thought, trying to figure out what the werewolf was trying to do.

It couldn’t be to lure anyone in, since no one without witcher senses would have even caught the scent. It couldn’t be to throw hounds off its track, either, because the werewolf stench was overpowering the faint Peter scent. It simply made no sense.

“I’m gonna have to think about that,” Stiles decided, already turning back around to go back to his room to do just that.

“Nope,” Peter quickly said and put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, steering him away from his room. “You are gonna eat first, you can solve this mystery with a full stomach,” he said decidedly, and Stiles didn’t even try to protest.

“Fine,” he huffed, and let Peter move him towards his own room.

Peter didn’t take his hands off Stiles’ shoulders until they were there, like he was afraid Stiles would dash away if given the chance, and Stiles didn’t protest.

Not many people touched Stiles, certainly not as carefree as Peter did, and he reveled in the contact, telling himself that was the only reason his heart was beating just that little bit faster.

Peter luckily didn’t seem to notice, caught up in telling him just how thankful Stiles should be that he saved as much breakfast for him as he did, and Stiles was quick to agree. Anything to make him think about something else.

~*~*~

Stiles spent the next two nights in the woods, but he didn’t come across the werewolf again until the night of the full moon.

It was strange, and it worried him that the werewolf wasn’t there every night; Stiles was sure that something more was going on, and he was missing a major part of the story. He hoped that he could get the werewolf to talk, maybe get it to reveal something, but when he saw it during the full moon Stiles realized his mistake.

Something was wrong with this werewolf; it was even bigger than before and it seemed almost feral.

It certainly wasn’t normal, not to this extent, and even though Stiles had prepared himself better than the other night, he was still worried about going up against it. It had already shown to be fast and cunning, and Stiles could only imagine how much worse it would be under the influence of the full moon.

It was only a second later when he realized his mistake: he wouldn’t have to imagine.

The werewolf charged right at him and Stiles had problems throwing his shield up in time. It immediately burst under the first hit, and Stiles cursed. He sprung back when the werewolf brought its other claw up, and it only barely missed Stiles.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked nonetheless, grip sure around his sword, shield up and in place.

He wouldn’t be caught unaware like that again.

The werewolf only growled at him and something had to be really wrong here. Stiles had never met a werewolf who didn’t speak, who couldn’t at least got some sounds resembling words out.

“I can help you. If you tell me what’s going on, I can help you,” Stiles promised, still keeping his fighting stance and closely observing the werewolf.

The tensing of his leg muscles was the only warning Stiles got before it was already flying at him again.

Stiles’ shield held up, and the werewolf didn’t do any damage with that. Stiles didn’t have time to be happy, however, because the werewolf wasn’t deterred. It came at Stiles again and again, until the shield broke and while that threw the werewolf back, it only shook his head before it came at Stiles again.

Stiles scrambled for one of the bombs at his belt, cursing when he couldn’t find the right one immediately and he could swear there was an amused glint in the werewolf’s eyes.

He finally grabbed the right one and smashed it into the ground without hesitation. Moon dust exploded around them and it stunned the werewolf for long enough that Stiles got two, three good hits in before it retaliated viciously.

It swiped it’s claws up and inward, and Stiles’ hadn’t seen that one coming.

The claws caught under his chin and tore his skin apart, stopping shortly under his left eye. Stiles was momentarily blinded by the pain, and he could feel the blood stream down his face, but the werewolf didn’t exploit its opening.

It seemed frozen, staring at the blood on Stiles’ face, but it only lasted a second. The werewolf shook his head and then lunged for Stiles again, who had managed to get his equilibrium back in that time as well.

They charged at each other, claws meeting steel, but neither gained the upper hand. Stiles got a few more hits in, as did the werewolf, claw marks now littering Stiles’ body, but none as deep as the one on his face.

Stiles couldn’t have said how long they fought, but his arms were starting to shake. He wasn’t made for heavy hits; he was lithe and fast and blocking hit after hit was wearing him down quicker than he would have liked. The werewolf was much stronger than him.

Right as Stiles began to think that maybe this would finally kill him, the werewolf suddenly stopped. It tilted its head and Stiles immediately strained his hearing, wondering if there was something the werewolf picked up that he couldn’t.

Stiles didn’t hear anything, but something must have happened, because the werewolf unexpectedly turned around and ran away.

Stiles was left staring after it, panting and his arms shaking, and he didn’t know if he should curse because it got away from him yet again, or if he should be relieved. He was pretty sure he couldn’t have fought for much longer. He decided to be relieved and just hoped that there wouldn’t be a new body by sunrise.

Stiles made his way back to the estate, painfully aware of every cut on his body; the claw marks on his face were still bleeding and Stiles gently prodded them to gauge the damage.

It would definitely scar, that much was clear.

He limped into the house, grateful that it was still way too early for people to be awake and slowly undressed once he reached his room. There was blood all over his body, but most of the cuts were already closed, and would heal without leaving a trace.

“What the fuck,” Peter suddenly said from the door as Stiles was in the process of wiping himself down and he spun around.

“How the hell can you be this silent,” Stiles cursed because he hadn’t heard Peter approach yet again.

“I would say you were occupied,” Peter curtly gave back and looked Stiles over, eyes caught on the marks on his face and something unreadable passed his face.

“What happened?” he asked, coming closer and carefully inspecting the cuts. “Those are deep.”

“You don’t say,” Stiles snapped back and moved away from Peter.

He was still on edge from the fight and having Peter this close was not helping at all.

“Stiles, let me help,” Peter pleaded and pointed at the cuts. “Let me put something on them.”

“I can do it alone,” Stiles gave back, turning away from Peter and picking up his washing cloth again.

“Are you sure you can reach the blood on your back?” Peter asked, and he sounded angry, but Stiles knew him better than that.

Peter was worried. He was just unable to show it like a normal person. That was something they had in common.

“No,” Stiles finally sighed and turned to Peter again. “It’s strong, and fast. Something is off about it and I don’t know what.”

“It hurt you. Do you really think it’s more important to solve the puzzle than to keep yourself safe?” Peter asked him and took the cloth from Stiles.

His words were harsh, but when he wiped down Stiles’ back he was careful, hands fluttering over the cuts, checking Stiles over.

“They aren’t deep,” Stiles told him, and the fatigue caught up to him all at once, making him sway on his feet.

“The ones on your face are,” Peter gave back and gently turned Stiles around to clean the three cuts on his cheek.

“They will scar,” Stiles agreed and tilted his head back, to give Peter better access.

“Yes, they will,” Peter mumbled and cradled Stiles’ uninjured cheek in his hand to keep him in place.

“Do you have something I can put on them?” Peter asked when he was satisfied and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“They’ll heal.”

“They’ll heal better and faster if you let me put something on them,” Peter gave back and Stiles huffed out a laugh.

“You’re such a mother hen,” he chided, but dutifully turned around and got the salve he kept on hand for his worse injuries.

“If you’re not going to care for your injuries, then I will,” Peter gave back and scooped up some of the salve.

Stiles braced for the sting that always came with it, but apart from that nothing hurt. Peter was so careful, fingers barely even touching the cuts and his other hand was again warm on Stiles’ cheek.

“So tell me, what’s the plan,” Peter wanted to know, while he was still smearing the salve over Stiles face.

“No clue,” Stiles honestly said. “I really think there’s more going on; it’s obviously clever but it doesn’t talk, and something called it away today. It could have killed me but instead it ran, and I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Peter’s grip tightened on his face when Stiles mentioned that he could have died this night, and Stiles covered Peter’s hand with his own, though he kept his eyes closed.

“It’s alright, I’m okay,” he mumbled, and Peter’s hand stilled on his wounds.

“But you could have not been,” he gave back, voice just as low as Stiles’ and Stiles startled when Peter leaned his forehead against his.

“You could have been seriously hurt and I wasn’t there to have your back.”

“You can’t always be there,” Stiles replied, leaning more of his weight against Peter. “You weren’t there in the past years.”

“Not a good thing to remind me of right now,” Peter curtly replied and moved away so suddenly that Stiles almost tipped forward.

He wouldn’t have if not for the hand on his shoulder stabilizing him.

“You’re acting ridiculous,” Stiles said, anger flaring up in him.

Peter had no reason to act like this.

“We spent two months together on the road, and then you left. I survived for years without you. I don’t understand why you always say shit like this.”

“Don’t you, Stiles?” Peter asked, calm and earnest and something in Stiles clamped up at that.

“No, I don’t,” he quickly said, wishing that they could be done with this conversation now. “There is no reason for you to act like this. I need to rest now. Thanks for patching me up.”

He turned away from Peter again, hoping to hide his burning face, his quickened breath and Stiles silently cursed himself.

“Fine,” Peter spat out and Stiles could hear him leave, steps heavy on the ground and such a stark contrast to Peter’s usually light gait.

Stiles brought a hand up to rub his forehead and then he carefully inspected the marks on his face. Peter had done a good job and Stiles was sure they would be healed over in a day or two, leaving nothing but scars behind.

When Stiles noticed that his hands were shaking he laughed at his own ridiculousness. It had been years and Peter could still do this to him, could still reduce him to the flailing idiot he had been all those years ago.

Stiles shook his head, willing himself to calm down and decided that maybe meditating would help him. Not only to get Peter out of his head but also to maybe see what he was missing about this case.

He briefly thought about going to get some breakfast, but the estate was bustling with activity now, and Peter was surely hiding somewhere just to come out when Stiles thought he was safe, and he couldn’t deal with either of those things now.

He climbed on his bed, crossing his legs and straightening his back, slowly sinking into meditation by calming his breathing and quieting his mind.

When he came out of it a few hours later, Stiles was calmer but none the wiser. The werewolf and his strange actions remained a mystery to Stiles and on top of that his stomach was protesting loudly now.

So Stiles slinked out of his room, determined to get food without interacting with anyone and he almost succeeded.

On his way back, food securely tucked under his arm, he ran into Derek and Kate and wasn’t quick enough to avoid them.

“Oh hey,” Stiles lamely greeted them, but they seemed too enamored with each other to really notice him.

Kate spared him a quick glance and nodded in his direction but Derek continued to smile blissfully, and Stiles tried very hard not to think about what could possible have brought that look onto his face.

He walked past them, trying to get away as fast as he could, but suddenly he could feel eyes on him. Stiles turned his head a bit, looking back at Derek and Kate from the corner of his eyes and he saw Kate looking after him, contemplating look on her face.

Stiles didn’t like it.

He could hear Peter saying that he didn’t like Kate and Stiles found that he had to agree. Something was definitely off about her. Stiles would need to keep a closer eye on her, which, given his schedule at the moment, could prove to be difficult.

A tiny voice reminded him that he could always ask Peter for help, but Stiles wasn’t ready to deal with him yet, and he pushed the thought away for later inspection.

Later came sooner than Stiles would have wanted, but he realized that he was being stupid and if he didn’t get eyes on Kate, it could potentially end in yet another tragic death, so after his lunch Stiles sucked it up and went to find Peter.

He was in the library, reading up on werewolf lore and Stiles felt a surge of affection for him, though he was quick to push it down.

“What do you want?” Peter snapped once he noticed Stiles, and Stiles cringed at his harsh tone.

“I came here to apologize,” Stiles said, “and to ask you for your help.” That certainly got Peter’s attention.

“My help,” he doubtfully repeated and Stiles nodded.

“I’m sorry I wanted to do everything on my own, and I could use your help,” he told him, determined to get the apology out there before he asked anything of Peter, and Peter crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What do you need?” he asked, still curt with Stiles.

“I would really appreciate it if you could keep an eye on Kate during the day,” Stiles said and Peter raised an eyebrow.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“I just ran into her and Derek and something seemed off. She stared after me, and I didn’t like the look on her face. Nor the one on Derek’s face, by the way, because he seemed way too blissed out for that time of day. And remember in the woods? I didn’t hear her coming. Add to that that she has some magical talent and it has me worried.”

“You think she’s got something to do with this?” Peter asked in a contemplative voice and Stiles shrugged.

“She certainly is involved with something, I think. It can’t hurt to keep an eye on her. But I do have to sleep sometimes and it would be great if you can watch her during the day. You’re certainly sneaky enough,” Stiles added, in a cheap attempt to appeal to Peter that way.

Going by the look Peter threw him at that, he looked right through him.

“Fine,” Peter eventually begrudgingly said. “I’ll watch her, but only because I want to know what’s going on as well.”

“Thank you!” Stiles said with feeling and he found that he meant it.

It was good to know that Peter wasn’t too mad at him to actually help.

“What are you reading?” Stiles asked and nodded at the book but Peter slammed it shut.

“Nothing you don’t know already, I’m sure,” he said, still curt and Stiles sighed.

Maybe he was madder than Stiles had thought.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he snapped back, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forgot how emotionally unavailable you are,” he muttered then before he straightened his shoulders.

“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” he promised and promptly walked away, leaving Stiles to stare at the spot he had vacated so suddenly.

Somehow it was always Peter walking away from him and Stiles couldn’t say that he liked it.

Stiles went back to his room and came up with a new plan. He wasn’t keen on fighting the werewolf again, he was still hurt after all, and it had proved harder to kill than he had imagined.

But maybe now he could find out who turned into the werewolf, since he was certain they came from the estate. It was a new lead and Stiles was willing to give it a try, if only to give his injuries some more time to heal completely.

So he patrolled the estate at dusk, well into the night, and then again at dawn, but he never caught even a glimpse of the werewolf.  It was beyond strange, and Stiles constantly felt on the verge of a headache, especially with the glares Talia kept throwing him.

Peter had nothing new to report either; Kate spent most of her time in her room and if she was out she could usually be found with Derek.

Peter was visibly displeased with that, but he had no grounds to tell Derek to back off her and so he kept an extra close watch on them, but still. Kate seemed harmless.

After the third night that didn’t yield any results, Stiles thought it was probably time to go back into the woods again.

Maybe he’d have more luck there, even though no new bodies had turned up and no one had reported a sighting of the werewolf.

Stiles decided to spend one more night watching the estate and its occupants and then he would venture out again. His wounds were healed, the ones on his face turned into scars like he had predicted, and he had stocked up on moon dust bombs.

It would be fine.

He was just about to get ready to creep around the stables when an envelope was slid under his door.

Stiles immediately jumped to the door, yanking it open, but whoever had left it was already gone, and without a trace too.

He picked the envelop up, and carefully opened it, aware that there were certain poisons out there that could potentially harm him too, enhanced healing or not.

Stiles peeked inside but there was only a thin piece of paper, with some messy handwriting on it that Stiles immediately recognized.

Why the hell would Peter send him a message like this instead of just knocking at his door?

Peter had never been shy for words, and he certainly had never stopped to tell Stiles exactly what he thought, so this seemed more than suspicious.

Still, Stiles pulled out the message.

_Meet me at the circle of stones at midnight. P._

Well, the message was certainly in Peter’s style. Short, to the point and just a tad bit dramatic with the timing, though Stiles had to admit it was more a circle of rocks.

He had come across it more than once during his patrols through the woods, it would be easy enough to find.

Stiles still had time to get there though, and he wasn’t keen on actually meeting Peter there. Not to mention that it was kind of stupid to go out into the woods at night when a werewolf was still running around.

So instead of waiting and then meeting Peter at the circle of stones, Stiles decided to go to his room and demand to know just what this childish behaviour was all about.

He knocked at the door, impatiently tapping his foot but no one opened and Stiles cursed.

Fine, then he would just wait here for Peter. It was still hours until midnight and Peter wouldn’t be lurking out in the woods already, of that Stiles was certain.

He opened the door, fully intending to sprawl all over Peter’s bed, but he came to a stop when he saw the room.

Things were overthrown, the bookcase toppled over and books lying everywhere. The bedding was ripped apart, feathers flying through the room still, and Stiles could smell the werewolf all over this room, he didn’t even need to see the claw marks in the wood.

White hot rage took him over for a second but he pushed it down. He needed a clear head if he wanted to get Peter back unharmed.

He briskly walked back to his room, gathering his swords and bombs, coating the silver sword with the cursed oil he made specifically for this. It would add a little bite to his hits, maybe enough to finally take the werewolf down, because if that creature had hurt Peter, he would kill it without hesitation.

When Stiles felt as prepared as he could get, he left the estate, quickly making his way to the circle of rocks.

He had no clue where to start looking for the werewolf, but so far it had always found him and Stiles was certain that if he started a fire there, it would see and come investigate. At least he had to believe that.

When he arrived at the circle, he got a fire going, using his fire magic Igni to speed up the process and then he settled down to wait.

He gave the werewolf until midnight to come find him, after that Stiles would tear apart the forest, and he wasn’t actually keen on doing that.

It felt like he had just settled down when he heard some cracking in the underbrush and not even a minute later the werewolf showed its ugly mug.

It climbed over some rocks into the circle and Stiles could smell Peter on it.

“Where is Peter?” Stiles asked, voice tightly controlled, because he was about to freak out and couldn’t afford to let the werewolf know.

The werewolf didn’t answer, it only narrowed its’ eyes at Stiles and tilted his head from side to side. Stiles could see that it was wearing a piece of cloth around his arm again and he ground his teeth together when he recognized it as the shirt Peter had been wearing that day.

“Tell me where he is and I’ll make your death a quick one,” Stiles said and the werewolf started to laugh at that.

It was an eerie noise, grating on Stiles’ ears, and he got up just as the werewolf stopped.

“If you won’t tell me, fine. I’ll kill you anyway.”

“You’ll never find him,” the werewolf said, and the voice was wrong too, distorted and grumbling deep.

Stiles still thought he had heard it before, it seemed familiar, and he thought it was probably because he had interviewed the person at the estate previously.

“We’ll see about that,” Stiles hissed out and then sent a burst of flames towards the werewolf.

It shrieked when its fur caught fire, distracted by trying to put the flames out, and Stiles charged forward.

He smashed the moon dust bomb down, hindering the healing of the burn wounds and swung his sword around, catching the werewolf in the middle.

It let out an inhuman shriek and Stiles grimly smiled.

He would kill it this time.

Stiles yanked his sword out of the werewolf and brought it around again, fully intending to hit the werewolf at the same place, hoping to cut it into two.

But the werewolf recovered faster than Stiles had anticipated and he blocked the hit with his arm, willingly taking the injury there, while he clawed at Stiles with his other hand.

Stiles threw his shield up, stunning the werewolf when it exploded under his hit and he used Igni again, throwing flames at the werewolf from a much shorter, distance and Stiles had to take care that he didn’t catch fire as well.

The fur of the werewolf burned wonderfully, but it didn’t seem deterred by that. It charged at Stiles again, and when Stiles ducked under his claws he was suddenly caught in the chest by the werewolf’s leg, claws leaving scratches there before the strength of the kick propelled him back.

The werewolf lunged after him, crashing against Stiles’ shield over and over again and Stiles cursed.

The fire, the bomb and the oil on his sword should have shown some effect by now, but either the werewolf was much stronger than he had thought or it just didn’t care, because it didn’t show any signs of fatigue or care for itself.

Stiles managed to cut it again when he suddenly dropped his shield, putting the werewolf off balance when his hit hadn’t connected as before and he danced around the werewolf, bringing his sword down on his back.

The cut was deep, Stiles could see the blood in the fur, and the agonized scream of the werewolf was music to his ears.

The werewolf lashed out, throwing his claw back, obviously hoping to catch Stiles, but Stiles was already out of reach and ready to release yet another burst of flames.

The werewolf looked over its shoulder and Stiles could see his eyes slightly widen and he allowed himself to grin again, flames already crackling at the tips of his fingers.

Before he could before he could release them though the werewolf lunged again, but this time away from Stiles, obviously intent on fleeing.

Stiles threw an Axii sign at it, trying to influence its mind so that it would slow down or even stop altogether, but it didn’t do anything. Something at the back of the werewolf briefly shimmered through the fur and the werewolf only shook his head as if to get clear of the influence of the mind-altering rune before it continued to crash through the underbrush.

Stiles tried to trap it with Yrden, throwing traps at the ground in the hopes that it would step into one but the werewolf deftly avoided all of them.

In the end Stiles could do nothing but watch it run away, yet again, and desperation bubbled up in him.

He would never find Peter now.

Stiles allowed himself one moment of hopelessness before he squared his shoulders. Maybe he could follow the werewolf again; it was wounded and most certainly on its way back to its hideout.

The chances were good that it also held Peter there and Stiles refused to believe anything else.

He briefly checked the wounds on his chest, but the cuts were shallow and already healing and then he marched off.

He followed the scent of the werewolf all through the woods, but it never led to a cave or hideout and eventually Stiles had to admit that the werewolf was just leading him on again.

Stiles punched the nearest tree at that revelation and he barely even noticed the pain.

If Peter was gone he would rip this werewolf to shreds, no matter if he had to stay in the woods for weeks, he would get it done.

When the sun started to rise, Stiles turned back to the estate, preparing himself to tell Talia that her brother was gone and not hitting her in the face when she no doubt would make an insensitive comment.

The closer he got to the estate, the stronger the stench of the werewolf got too and Stiles cursed, long and loud.

He would talk to all of the people there again, and this time he would make sure that he found the one responsible for all of this.

It didn’t matter if they were in their human form or not, Stiles had killed humans before and he wouldn’t even feel bad about it this time because that human had killed someone who was important to Stiles.

They shouldn’t expect any mercy.

Stiles didn’t even stop by his room first, he went straight back to Peter’s, hoping that maybe he had overlooked something that would give him a clue, any kind of hint as to where he would find Peter, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he could hear someone rummage around in Peter’s room.

Stiles drew his sword, not willing to take any risks, or allow the person to get away, especially since it wasn’t unlikely that the person had something to do with Peter’s disappearance.

Guilty people always returned to the place of their crime, after all.

Stiles jumped into the room, ready to strike at whoever dared to enter, and he was totally caught off guard when he came face to face with Peter.

“What the fuck,” Stiles whispered and then rushed forward anyway, sword forgotten in his hand and he quickly checked Peter over, patting him down to find any hidden injuries.

“Stop, Stiles,” Peter complained. “I’m not hurt.”

“You were gone,” Stiles accused him. “The werewolf obviously took you, so excuse me for worrying.”

“The werewolf didn’t take me, Stiles,” Peter said and then quickly went to close the door, after he checked that no one was lurking in the hallway.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Stiles asked and made a motion that encompassed the whole room. “Clearly, it was in here.”

“Yes, but…” Peter trailed off and sat down on his bed, head in his hands, before he whispered, “I think it’s me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stiles huffed immediately, because that was more than a stupid idea.

“No, listen,” Peter implored and he looked almost desperate, but Stiles wouldn’t believe this for a second.

“Don’t tell me Talia finally got into your head,” Stiles joked but Peter threw him a glare so cold that Stiles decided it was time to shut up.

He would listen to the reasons that brought Peter to the conclusion that he was the werewolf and then he could demolish one after the other.

“Okay, fine, tell me why you think you’re the werewolf,” Stiles said and Peter clasped his hands before he started to talk.

Stiles still noticed that they were shaking, and that more than anything, made him worry.

Peter was hardly ever shaken and if this was truly worrying him that much, Stiles should at least keep an open mind.

“I don’t remember the nights you saw the werewolf,” Peter started. “Remember that night a few days back, you said I looked like shit. I probably looked like shit because I was out all night, fighting you.”

“You said you had nightmares,” Stiles reminded him and Peter huffed.

“Yeah, distorted dreams about the woods, and pain, and claws.”

Okay, that was not normal and maybe worrying but still no proof.

“What else,” Stiles said, wanting to get this over with, so that he could reassure Peter that he wasn’t the werewolf.

“That morning after we found Laura, I did come back here and threw up. There were bits in there, and I think they might have been of her,” Peter quietly admitted and rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if he was trying not to throw up again.

“You can’t prove that,” Stiles told him and Peter’s eyes snapped up to him.

“No, but you can’t disprove it either.”

Stiles had to give that point to Peter.

“What happened here then?” Stiles asked and pointed at the demolished furniture.

“I think I turned in here and destroyed everything before I managed to get out.”

“Peter, those are not real reasons to think you’re the werewolf,” Stiles tried again but Peter shook his head.

“You said it smelled like me.”

“Because it was wearing your clothes around its wrist,” Stiles gave back.

“What if that was only to throw you off? To make you think it’s only the piece of clothing and not the werewolf itself who smelled like me?” Peter said and that got Stiles thinking.

The scent had been strong, a few nights ago, but also last night. And now that he thought about it, the voice had seemed familiar too.

“I still don’t think it’s you,” Stiles slowly said, gears turning in his head.

It simply wasn’t possible.

Peter had been there most nights, which meant he wasn’t turning all the time. But no one was there to keep the curse under control so it simply wasn’t possible.

“You fought it again tonight, right?” Peter asked and startled Stiles out of his musings.

“Yes, it was there,” Stiles agreed and Peter nodded like that proved something.

“You fought it with fire and you caught it here,” he rested a hand on his side, “and across the back.”

Peter’s voice was low, and Stiles could feel how he got pale.

“I can still feel your sword, you coated it with something and when I woke up this morning, in this room, I smelled like fire, ash and burned flesh.”

“It makes no sense,” Stiles argued and shook his head. “You clearly didn’t turn every night. That’s not possible. If you’re cursed to be a werewolf you turn every night without fail, no matter what. And you didn’t.”

“But I think I did turn on the nights in question,” Peter wryly said.

“It’s not possible, Peter,” Stiles decidedly said, again, and Peter shrugged.

“When have I ever adhered to normal standards?” he asked, and Stiles wanted to slap him.

He recognized it as the defense mechanism it was, but still. Peter could stand to take this a little bit more seriously.

“But if I am the werewolf, it’s easy enough to figure out, isn’t it?” he asked then and Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

“If it was so easy to figure out, we would already know for certain if it was you, which I still think is bullshit, by the way.”

“Noted, but also not accepted,” Peter gave back and then scratched his chin. “I think you’ll have to lure the werewolf out,” he mused and Stiles sighed.

It wasn’t a bad plan, except for how Peter was still implying that he was the werewolf in question.

“Why did you know I was missing anyway?” Peter suddenly asked and Stiles tilted his head a bit.

“I got a message last night, asking me to meet at the stone circle, signed by you,” he said carefully, as if Peter was slow on the uptake.

“See, perfect,” Peter declared and Stiles wanted to strangle him, because nothing about this was perfect or even clear for that matter.

“What?” Stiles almost growled and Peter looked at him as if he was questioning Stiles’ intelligence.

“I didn’t send that letter. So clearly someone else sent it, which means that someone out there is controlling the shift and they want you dead.”

“And what the hell is perfect about that?” Stiles wanted to know.

“It means we can lure them out in turn.” He stopped for a moment, clearly thinking something over before he went on. “If no one saw you coming here, we can use this to our advantage. You can send me a message in return, asking to meet again since you’re sorry that you missed me last night. I guess the person controlling me is still around, so they’ll see and take this new opportunity to kill you. They’ll turn me and then we’ll know for sure.”

Stiles had no idea how Peter could talk so easily about being controlled since Stiles had a hard time accepting it. But he guessed one of them should find this more disturbing, and he was happy to take on that role.

“I still don’t see how that’s perfect. If you’re the werewolf I’m not gonna fight you again,” he said and something in Peter’s face shifted, got softer maybe, and Stiles quickly averted his eyes.

“You won’t have to,” Peter said softly. “You’ll watch me. You’ll keep your distance and just watch me. If I turn, you stay out of the woods.”

“And let you kill innocent people?” Stiles incredulously asked and Peter shrugged.

“I don’t think that will happen. The only person I’ve killed so far was Laura,” he said, slightly stumbling over his nieces’ name, and Stiles suddenly realized that Peter wasn’t as unaffected by this as he was trying to make Stiles believe.

“As far as I understood it, the other nights the werewolf was out it was solely to fight you, so I guess if I can’t find you, nothing will happen.”

Stiles was in the process of shaking his head, because this was a stupid plan, and he wouldn’t take the risk of Peter hurting anyone innocent, again, but Peter stepped forward.

“Stiles, please. We have to know. I have to know,” he begged and suddenly Stiles could see just how afraid Peter was.

If he was the werewolf, he did kill his niece and he was everything his sister accused him of, Stiles realized with a start, and cursed under his breath.

He still didn’t think it was possible that the werewolf was Peter, but if it would settle his doubts, of course he would do it.

“Fine,” he eventually agreed. “We’ll try it your way. Maybe I can also spread word that I’ll be out this night again. Make it more believable or something.”

“Perfect,” Peter agreed and Stiles really started to hate the word.

“I’ll go back to my room then, expect a note during the day,” Stiles shortly said and turned away.

“Don’t let anyone see you here,” Peter told him, as if Stiles was an idiot, and Stiles threw him the finger before he left the room, accompanied by Peter’s low chuckles.

Stiles kept a low profile during the day, slinking over to Peter’s room during the afternoon to slide the note under his door and then he went to get some food.

He told everyone who even came close to him that he would be out again tonight, no new developments, he still needed to find the werewolf, though he thought he was getting close.

If whoever was somehow controlling the shift heard that, he might make a rash decision to keep their secrets. At least Stiles hoped as much.

When dusk fell, Stiles returned back to his room, before he checked the back and climbed out of his window.

He made his way over to Peter’s room, keeping to the shadows and making sure that no one saw him and then he settled down. He was still convinced that it wasn’t Peter, so he was prepared for a rather uneventful night, but he was proven wrong when Peter left his room only a few minutes later.

Stiles followed him, keeping his distance, but Peter didn’t look like he was very aware of his surroundings and Stiles frowned at that.

The look on Peter’s face reminded Stiles of something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Peter marched straight over to the stables and then disappeared into the woods.

Dread settled over Stiles because that certainly wasn’t inconspicuous behaviour and maybe, just maybe, Peter might not have been wrong about this.

Stiles kept following him, keeping out of sight, but scanning their surroundings in hopes of seeing whoever had this much control over Peter.

At one point Stiles thought he saw some blonde hair through the branches, again, but when he looked closer no one was there.

Peter made his way straight over to the circle where he and Stiles were supposed to meet, but he stopped a few feet away. Stiles saw him bind something around his wrist and resisted the urge to curse, because that right there was exactly what the werewolf had always worn around its wrist.

Still, Stiles didn’t want to jump to conclusions, because maybe there was a perfectly innocent explanation to this all, but then fur started to grow all over Peter and between one blink and the next he had already turned into the werewolf.

Stiles closed his eyes as the reality of the situation crashed over him, and he mumbled a heartfelt ‘Fuck’ under his breath.

He really hated it when Peter was right, but in this instance it was especially bad.

Stiles had no idea how Peter would deal with this; hell, he was hardly sure how he himself was dealing with this.

When Stiles opened his eyes again, the werewolf, Peter, was standing right in front of him and Stiles cursed himself when he realized that he had forgotten that Peter’s senses would be better as a werewolf.

“Peter,” he tried, while getting up and trying to put some space between him and Peter. “Peter, don’t,” he implored but of course it didn’t work.

Stiles threw his shield up and got his sword out as well, but he really had no intentions of fighting Peter.

He knew that he wouldn’t be fast enough to run away, Peter would catch up to him no problem at all, and all Stiles would be able to do was hold out against him.

He briefly wondered if he could manage to catch Peter, and even though he didn’t have much hope, he threw out some Axii runes again. Maybe he would get lucky.

Stiles had to admit, a few minutes later, that this time he would not get lucky. All the runes seemed to do was anger Peter further, confusing him for a second before he attacked Stiles even more viciously, and Stiles found himself backing off further and further.

Peter of course followed him, intent on killing him and Stiles hated himself a bit when he summoned some fire to hurl at Peter.

Peter’s fur immediately lit up again, and the pained noise he let out cut Stiles to the bone.

He couldn’t keep fighting Peter, but he also couldn’t allow Peter to hurt him. If Stiles didn’t take it well when he hurt Peter, Peter would take it even worse when he turned back and found new injuries on Stiles.

So all Stiles could do was hold up the shield, renewing it whenever it burst under Peter’s onslaught and otherwise sit tight.

Stiles didn’t know how long Peter charged in again and again, but eventually he tired. His attacks slowed down and it seemed like it became gradually harder for him to raise his arm for another attack.

Stiles got up when he noticed those signs and immediately cursed himself when Peter renewed his efforts at breaking through the shield.

Eventually he started to circle the shield, looking for a weak point, but Stiles turned with him, not giving him what he wanted.

“Shoo, wolfie,” Stiles eventually said, but the word left a bad taste in his mouth.

Peter growled at him, even now not showing a sign of human intelligence, and continued his slow circles around him.

Stiles continued to use Igni on him from time to time, deliberately missing him by inches, just hoping that maybe Peter would eventually run away.

It didn’t happen for another two hours and Stiles was pretty sure it wasn’t because of his botched attacks.

Stiles followed Peter again, hoping that maybe he would catch a glimpse of whoever was controlling the shift, but whoever it was stayed wisely out of sight and let Peter change back in the stables, scaring the horses half to death in the process.

Peter had this blissed out look on his face again, eyes vacant, and Stiles got that nagging feeling again, like he had seen it before. He still couldn’t remember, though.

He kept his trail on Peter, following him to his own room, where he slipped inside unseen and Stiles quickly hurried back to his own room, because Peter didn’t seem in any state to be talked to.

He was in the process of putting down his weapons when Peter stormed into his room, without even knocking first.

“I could have been naked,” Stiles wryly said and Peter looked him up and down once.

“Pity,” he shortly said and closed the door behind him, walking straight over to Stiles’ bed where he settled down.

“And?” he asked then, clearly impatient and Stiles shook his head in a helpless gesture.

“It’s you,” Stiles told him with a little shrug and watched Peter’s face fall before he put one of his many masks back into place.

“I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s you. You’re not turning every night, and I think I saw someone in the woods.”

“So it’s like that one case you heard of where someone else controlled the shift,” Peter reminded him and Stiles frowned.

So Peter didn’t want to touch on the subject that he had killed his niece. Stiles could work with that. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to that either.

“That person had to be constantly near the cursed one, magic like that doesn’t work if you’re apart,” Stiles gave back. “So as long as you didn’t spend all other nights with the same person, that theory doesn’t work out.”

At that Peter got up and started to pace. Stiles wisely kept his mouth shut because Peter was obviously working himself up to say something and an uneasy weight settled in Stiles’ stomach.

He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know if Peter had spent several nights with the same person.

Peter came to an abrupt stop and turned to Stiles, squaring his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight.

“What if the cursed person had magic as well?”

“You mean like a secondary source?” Stiles asked for clarification and his mind already started to whir.

“Yes.”

“I mean, maybe,” Stiles carefully said, still mulling that over. “If there was a secondary source of magic the Axii rune could be made permanent so the magic user doesn’t have to be around all the time. I think. I never heard of something like that but theoretically it should be possible.”

Stiles was just ready to tell Peter that _he_ would have to be the secondary source here and he obviously didn’t have magic when Peter beat him to it.

“I have magic,” Peter admitted and Stiles scoffed.

“Yeah, right. Because that’s not convenient as hell.”

Peter grabbed for the necklace he wore and took it off, throwing it at Stiles who caught it with ease. He could feel the magic coming from it, but his amulet was still reacting to something.

Usually it stopped when Stiles touched the source of the magic, but now it was still vibrating on his chest.

Stiles stepped forward and put a hand on Peter’s arm and the amulet suddenly stopped.

“What the hell, Peter?” Stiles asked, voice incredulous and to Peter’s credit he did seem honestly sorry.

“It’s the reason I left the estate in the first place. To learn control. I wasn’t lying to you, Hale’s have been killed for having magic, but my parents were more progressive than that. They told me to go away and learn how to control it, how to use it, and so I went. When I returned they welcomed me back with open arms, but they died two years later. I think Talia suspects, but she never confronted me about it. I still didn’t feel safe here, she’s not one of the more progressive family members, and so I left again.”

“So this amulet,” Stiles started and held the pendant up.

“It’s just a cover so that no one suspects me of anything.”

“I’ve never seen you do any magic,” Stiles whispered and thought back to their two months on the road.

“I have it under control, but I don’t really use it. It’s too easy a habit to get into and I can’t afford to let anyone find out. There are Hale’s all over the country, if even one of them finds out I have magic, I’m not safe anywhere,” Peter explained, face apologetic.

Objectively Stiles knew that they hadn’t spent enough time with each other to share any important secrets, but it still hurt to learn that Peter had hid such a large part of himself from Stiles.

“Okay,” Stiles eventually said, packing his anger away for later. “Okay, let’s say you work as a secondary magic source. There would still need to be an Axii rune on you to work as a suppressant. Have you noticed anything like that?” Stiles asked.

“When you caught me across the back two nights ago,” Peter started and raised his hand over his shoulder to rub at his upper back, “I think you damaged something there. I was suddenly a lot more aware and in control than before. I don’t remember anything from last night, but I still got impressions of the night before.”

Stiles thought back to that moment, and he remembered the slight widening of the werewolf’s eyes, and that it almost immediately had run away. Stiles had attributed it to the fact that he was gaining the upper on hand on the werewolf but if he did damage the rune that gave someone else control over Peter it made more sense that Peter had recognized him and decided to ran away because of that.

Plus there had been that strange shimmering between the werewolf’s shoulder blades when Stiles had tried the Axii rune on it and if there was a rune on Peter his would have interfered with that one. It would also explain why the Axii rune hadn’t worked on him last night.

“Between your shoulder blades,” Stiles quietly said and Peter frowned.

“What?” he asked briskly but Stiles could see the panic creep up on him.

Like he suddenly realized that this was all real.

“There was something between the werewolf’s shoulder blades when I tried to influence it with Axii,” Stiles explained and he suddenly noticed that his hands were shaking as well now.

Peter took his shirt off without further comment and then turned around to let Stiles look at his back.

Stiles’ eyes fell on the spot between Peter’s shoulder blades but he had a hard time concentrating on it, so instead he checked his back to see if he could still see the cut he had caused there.

“You’re no longer hurt,” Stiles told him, reaching out and lightly trailing his fingers down where he had cut Peter the night before. Goosebumps were breaking out under his fingertips and Peter took a step away from him before he slightly turned towards him.

“What? That’s not why you’re looking at my back, Stiles. Is there a rune or not?”

“A rune?” Stiles asked and could feel pressure building behind his eyes.

He rubbed his hand over his temple and could feel the first sparks of a headache coming on. Which was strange enough, because witchers didn’t get headaches.

Peter turned fully towards him and the pressure instantly disappeared.

“The Axii rune? Stiles, what’s going on?” Peter asked him and Stiles rubbed his temple again, trying to remember why they were talking about the Axii rune.

“I think something is making me look away from the rune,” Stiles said. “It’s like a compulsion so that I won’t notice or remember it,” he explained.

“Okay,” Peter said and turned around again, one hand covering part of his shoulder blade and now Stiles could see it.

“Fuck,” he whispered with emphasis and stepped forward again to trace the rune.

Peter’s fingers were covering part of it, which was probably why the compulsion didn’t work anymore and Stiles leaned forward to take a closer look.

It had the general shape of the Axii rune, the outlines of a triangle, turned on its head and the right side not quite closing, but the rune itself was made up out of smaller runes as well. Stiles couldn’t tell the intention behind them, but it seemed safe to assume that at least a few of them were there to avoid anyone noticing the rune on Peter.

It certainly was enough to prevent Peter from turning every night and controlling him in his werewolf form.

“So it is me,” Peter quietly said and he sounded so defeated that Stiles grabbed his shoulder.

“No! It’s not you,” Stiles said, desperation clear in his voice and Peter shrugged his hand off.

“Stiles, this is pretty damning evidence, you said it yourself. You saw me turn. I did it. I killed Laura. Talia was right.”

Peter had whispered the last part before he covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide, and Stiles couldn’t stand to see Peter like that; scared and afraid and hopeless.

“It’s not you, Peter. Someone still has to control you,” Stiles reminded him in an attempt to maybe lift his mood even a little bit but Peter shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. You heard Talia. As soon as she hears that I’m the werewolf she’ll want me dead. She already wants me dead. It will be the perfect excuse.”

“I won’t let her, we won’t even tell her yet,” Stiles promised. “And I will not kill you, either,” Stiles said before Peter could even open his mouth.

“What else do you propose, then?” Peter snapped at him and Stiles stepped closer.

“We’re going to find out who’s doing this to you, and then we’ll see,” Stiles decided and grabbed Peter’s hand. “You’ll have to act like everything is normal. No one can suspect that you know what’s going on. We need to know who is controlling you,” Stiles told him and waited for Peter to nod before he dropped his hand.

Peter was the werewolf… there was no cure Stiles knew of and he wasn’t ready to face that reality yet.

His top priority right now was to find out who was doing this to Peter, everything else would come after that.

They came up with a plan that mostly consisted of Peter acting like usual and Stiles watching his every step, again, but this time they would try to figure out who was the real culprit here.

The whole day was more than boring but when Peter ran into Derek and Kate that evening something clicked in Stiles head and suddenly he knew that it had been Kate, even before she friendly bumped into Peter and lightly dragged her hand over his back.

She was clearly reinforcing the rune there and Stiles cursed himself.

He should have trusted Peter’s and his own instincts with Kate, they both had thought something was off about her, but they hadn’t even imagined anything like this. He thought back to the flashes of blonde hair he had seen around and cursed some more. He should have put it together sooner than this.

Stiles had thought she was stealing money, for god’s sake.

“It’s Kate,” Stiles declared that evening when they met in his room. “She’s been around you, around us, really, and she brushed her hand down your back once, probably to reinforce her hold over you. Remember how I also mentioned that something was off about her and wanted you to watch her? Fuck, I should have trusted my instincts. I saw her around all the time and never put it together.”

Peter seemed to think that over and then nodded. “We both didn’t, Stiles. But you’re right, she’s been doing that a lot lately, being all friendly and touch-y, I thought it was because she wanted me to like her since she’s with Derek.”

He thought about it for a few seconds and then shrugged.

“Okay, so we kill her,” Peter said matter-of-factly, and Stiles nodded, even though something was still nagging at him.

“What?” Peter asked, still way too good at reading Stiles.

“What is she doing here? I mean, did she just walk up to the house and ask if she could stay for a few months?” he asked slowly, still putting his thoughts into order.

It was more than unlikely that Talia would have just allowed her to stay here.

“I think Derek vouched for her. Said he’d met her in town and begged Talia to allow her to stay.”

“But how would she get Derek to like her specifically…,” Stiles mused and then trailed off because he suddenly remembered the blissed out look on Derek’s face when he’d run into him and Kate. And then he remembered that same look on Peter’s face last night.

She was using the Axii rune on a grown man to suppress his change into a werewolf and force him to kill his niece. It wasn’t far-fetched that she would use the rune on Derek as well.

“What?” Peter asked impatiently, but he fell silent when he saw the look on Stiles’ face.

“She’s using it on him,” Stiles said and Peter went pale.

“She’s making him like her?” he asked, voice shaking just the tiniest bit. “She’s forcing him into this relationship?”

“It would make sense,” Stiles said. “Think about it. How else would she ensure that Derek liked her specifically? How else would she make sure that he begged his mother to allow her to stay? Is she even Derek’s type?” Stiles asked and Peter leaned against the wall burying his face in his hands.

“Shit,” he cursed. “Shit!” he said again with even more emphasis and then looked at Stiles. “I wasn’t here for that, obviously, but Talia said Derek was in love with a girl who died due to some illness or another. Pretty brunette thing apparently. She said he changed after that, got closed off and distant. She’s been remarking on how good it is to see Derek like this again, happy and carefree.”

He slammed his head against the wall.

“We thought it was love that was causing the change.”

“It’s the Axii rune,” Stiles said lowly, and Peter looked at him, fury written all over his face.

“We kill her,” he said and this time it wasn’t even a question.

Family always came first for Peter.

“We can’t,” Stiles said and was braced for Peter charging at him and grabbing his collar.

“What do you mean, we can’t?” he asked and shook Stiles slightly.

Stiles covered Peter’s hands with his hand and gently pried them off.

“We don’t know what she wants, and who else is involved. Plus, we need to find out if that will break the curse or not. The control she has over you will disappear when she’s dead, we need to know if the curse will be gone too,” Stiles reasonably said.

“You think I’ll change every night when she’s dead,” Peter said and took several steps away from Stiles.

“It would only make sense. Her will is everything stopping you from turning. If she’s gone, if her will is broken, it would possibly leave you with the normal curse,” Stiles said, trying to hide his desperation because he had been thinking about this all day.

If Kate was out of the picture there was no way to stop Peter from turning again, and this time he would be a normal werewolf, going after everything that moved.

Stiles couldn’t allow that and he was certain that Peter wouldn’t want to do that either.

“What are we going to do?” Peter asked, wringing his hands in front of his chest. “We have to do something, at least for Derek. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know yet,” Stiles snapped and started to pace in the room.

“There are cures, right? For me?” Peter tried again and Stiles laughed, bitter and broken.

“You know damn well that those are bullshit, Peter. I saw you read up on the lore of werewolves,” and damn, did that make more sense all of a sudden, if Peter had suspected it was him for a while now, Stiles thought before he went on. “The tears of a virgin?” Stiles threw his hands up. “What virgin? Someone who has no sexual experience? Someone who hasn’t been used as a sacrifice before? Someone pure at heart? It’s all bullshit, fairytales people tell themselves to keep some hope going. None of them work.”

“Right,” Peter said, voice tight and Stiles wanted to kick himself. They both could need some hope right about now. “The cure for the striga works,” Peter reminded Stiles and Stiles shook his head.

“And how many have died trying to keep her from her coffin, huh? There’s a reason it’s always a call to kill, Peter.”

“So what? You’re gonna kill me?” Peter asked him, standing stock still and avoiding Stiles’ eyes.

“Gods, Peter, I’m not going to kill you,” Stiles yelled at him and suddenly Peter was right there in his face.

“What else are you gonna do then, huh? Keep me on a leash, spend every night making sure I don’t kill a human or eat an animal?” he snapped.

“We all eat animals,” Stiles lamely gave back and Peter’s eyes blazed for a second, like he was about to hit him but instead he forced himself to take a step back.

“But you usually prefer them not quite that bloody,” he said and Stiles sighed but didn’t say anything.

“You can control me,” Peter finally lowly said. “Right? I mean, the Axii rune is right there. If we kill Kate, you can take control of it. She clearly kept me from changing, and she specifically had me kill Laura, so you can just take over. Let me change once a month maybe, and make sure I don’t hurt anyone. I’ll travel with you, so you can reinforce your control every day.”

“I won’t control you, Peter,” Stiles said and then rubbed his forehead. “We have to get rid of the rune.”

It was the only way to ensure that no one else would take control of Peter and use him for their own purposes ever again.

“And then what?” Peter shouted. “Huh, Stiles, tell me, because I don’t hear a solution from you! At least like that I won’t kill anyone. You won’t let me,” he said with absolute surety but Stiles couldn’t bear that thought. He would not take control of Peter, undermine his autonomy, werewolf or not.

“Tell me,” Peter yelled at him when he stayed silent for too long.

“I don’t know,” Stiles yelled right back, and he was aware that his voice was shaking, but he couldn’t do this.

The things Peter proposed… killing him or controlling him, those were not choices at all.

“I don’t know,” he repeated again, voice low and Peter stepped closer to him.

“We have to do something. I won’t put everyone I love in danger like that,” Peter told him and Stiles’ head snapped up.

“You’re not going to kill yourself,” he pressed out, reading between the lines, and grabbed Peter’s shirt. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s better than the alternative,” Peter gave back and covered Stiles’ hands with his own. “It’s better than hurting you again,” he whispered and traced the scarred claw marks on Stiles’ face.

Stiles hadn’t even thought about it like that, but leave it to Peter to find something to feel guilty over that no one even blamed him for.

Stiles tilted his head, so that Peter could cup his cheek and he closed his eyes.

“Give me some time,” he pleaded. “I’ll find a way, I promise.”

He didn’t know how he would do it, but he would not allow Peter to die.

Peter let out a humorless chuckle.

“You just said it yourself. There is no cure.”

“There has to be,” Stiles said and he was aware he sounded desperate, grasping for straws, but he couldn’t stand even the thought of Peter taking his own life. “It’s a curse. There are cures for all curses. We just have to find it. The right one will be out there.”

“Don’t you think if there was one, it would have been found already?” Peter asked, who obviously had come to terms with this much quicker than Stiles, and Stiles wanted to scream and tear the room apart.

“Maybe people haven’t tried hard enough,” he snapped and Peter gently moved his thumb over Stiles’ cheek.

“I think people have been motivated enough before,” he quietly said and Stiles closed his eyes.

This wasn’t something he was ready to talk about.

“I’ll find a way,” he declared and took a step back, out of Peter’s reach. “Don’t do anything stupid until then,” he ordered and turned around to leave but Peter caught his hand in his.

“Two days, Stiles. I give you two days. If you don’t find anything until then, I’ll kill Kate and after that I’ll make sure I can’t hurt anyone. If she makes me turn before that…,” he trailed off there, but Stiles could guess what would happen then.

Peter wouldn’t allow anyone to get hurt.

No matter that killing himself would hurt them all even more.

“Fine,” Stiles said, voice wavering just slightly and Peter gave him a knowing look.

“We could put those two days to a different use, you know,” Peter said, in a clearly desperate attempt to lighten the mood, and he pulled Stiles close enough to drop a light kiss to Stiles’ lips.

Stiles swayed closer for a second and chased after Peter’s lips before the meaning of his words sunk in. He might have wanted to hear them in a different situation but all they did now was make Stiles sick.

“You expect me to sleep with you when I know you’ll be gone soon? When I could be out there _helping you_?” Stiles hissed and Peter sighed.

“I had to try,” he easily said and shrugged. “Not like you ever gave me a chance, but I had to try.”

“Fuck you, Peter,” Stiles spat out and wrenched his hand free of his grip.

He would have given Peter all the chances if he had known, but not like this. Never like this; as some kind of last wish, so that Peter could go easier. Stiles wouldn’t allow it.

He would find a cure that worked and then he would rip Kate to pieces himself.

~*~*~

As the sun reached its zenith on the second day, Stiles had to admit that maybe he had been too optimistic.

He had read every piece of werewolf lore he could find in the extensive Hale library, and cross referenced it with everything he had collected in his own bestiary, but the only two cures that popped up again and again were the sacrifice of a virgin and true love.

Both were utter bullshit, and Stiles wanted to burn every book that had the audacity to mention them.

He had been avoiding Peter since their talk in his room, but he wasn’t surprised when Peter came into the library, obviously knowing that Stiles would be there.

“Did you find anything?” he asked with a mild voice, and Stiles suppressed the urge to throw the tome he’d been reading in at him.

“No,” he pressed out, and Peter seemed way too calm at that admission.

“Okay,” he easily said with a shrug. “We’re killing Kate tonight.”

“We’re not killing Kate tonight,” Stiles said, and prayed for patience when Peter frowned at him.

“If we kill her this evening, you’ll turn during the night,” Stiles explained. “We’ll kill her in the morning.”

“To give you a day more on your futile search for a cure?” Peter asked and Stiles glared at him.

“Excuse me for wanting to save you. If you value your life so little feel free to rip her throat out tonight,” he spat and slammed the tome shut.

“Stiles,” Peter started, and his voice was soft and careful, and Stiles hated it. “I appreciate what you’re doing, that you care, but do you think I haven’t read everything in here already?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see you coming up with a solution for this,” Stiles snapped.

“Have you considered that maybe there is no solution?” Peter carefully asked him and Stiles felt like the ground was pulled out from under him.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think like that, because he would spiral if he did. He needed to cling to the hope that there was something out there, that he could save Peter, because even considering the other option was breaking him apart.

“Have you considered that maybe your pessimism isn’t appreciated, like, at all?” Stiles asked him in return, pushing thoughts of failure and Peter dying far away from him.

“You never have liked that side of me,” Peter observed and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Maybe because it’s not helpful and brings down moral.”

“Or maybe because it touches truths you’re not ready to accept yet,” Peter gave back.

“Did we kill the striga or not?” Stiles challenged and Peter actually laughed at him.

“I killed the striga. You were nearly eviscerated and almost died on the spot,” he reminded Stiles.

Stiles tried not to think about that night, because it was also the night Peter had left him, but something must have showed on his face since Peter made a questioning sound.

“Would you have stayed?” Stiles lowly asked and looked down at the tome, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“What?” Peter asked, obviously caught off guard by that question, but he came closer, hovering just out of reach for Stiles.

“Would you have stayed if I had given you a chance?” Stiles clarified and still didn’t meet Peter’s eyes.

Peter took his sweet time thinking that over and Stiles only saw him shrug from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t think so. I might have stayed longer, made sure that you were really healed up, but I would have left eventually. I wasn’t done learning, and I wanted to return home, too,” Peter said and relief washed through Stiles.

He didn’t know what he’d done if Peter had said that he would have stayed if only Stiles hadn’t been such a coward.

“I might have come back though,” Peter then quietly added before he huffed lightly. “But it’s not like you gave me a chance, now, is it?”

“I didn’t know,” Stiles admitted and tapped his finger against the book in a nervous gesture.

“That I was flirting with you?” Peter asked, and Stiles could imagine his face at that just by how incredulous he sounded.

“That you were serious,” Stiles gave back and finally looked up.

Peter was watching him intently, all his focus on Stiles, and Stiles felt the urge to squirm under that gaze.

“You flirted with everyone who crossed our path. You even threw a line at the striga before she got to me. How was I supposed to know that you meant it when you flirted with me?” Stiles asked him, and Peter pressed his lips together.

“I’m not sure I wanted you to know that, then,” Peter admitted and Stiles frowned at him. “I had already made plans to leave again, the deal was to travel together until we handled the striga and I feared that I’d want to stay if you’d ask me to. I wasn’t ready to stay.”

“And now?” Stiles asked and for the first time that day he met Peter’s gaze head on and it was Peter who looked away.

“And now I’m a werewolf who killed his niece and will need to be put down,” Peter gave back, easy as anything.

Stiles clenched his teeth and crossed his arms in front of his chest to hide how they were shaking again.

“Peter,” he admonished, voice hard, and Peter threw his hands in the air.

“What do you want to hear Stiles? That I was prepared to leave with you after this was over? That I had no intention of letting you go again? What does it matter now? It makes no difference, it’s not gonna happen!”

Peter was barely done speaking when Stiles stepped forward and pulled him into a kiss. Peter was obviously surprised at first, but then he went willingly, melting against Stiles and tangling his hand in his hair, while pulling him closer at the waist with the other.

Stiles pressed against him, deepening the kiss for long moments before Peter pulled away, but not out of reach.

He brought his hand up, brushing his thumb under Stiles’ eyes and it was only then that Stiles realized that he was very nearly crying.

“It’s going to be okay,” Peter said. “We will take care of Kate and you will leave before anything else happens. You won’t ever have to know.”

Stiles let out a broken laugh at that, cursing himself when one tear escaped and he pushed Peter away.

How could Peter ever think that this was comforting to Stiles?

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Stiles mumbled, even though his heart clenched at the thought of having missed this opportunity as well.

“We should have done this much earlier,” Peter echoed his thoughts.

“But we didn’t,” Stiles coldly said, putting his walls back up again.

He would be on the road again in less than a day, and Peter would just be a corpse at that point. Stiles figured it would do him good to get used to that thought sooner rather than later.

Stiles stepped fully out of Peter’s reach, turning back to the tome and Peter seemed to realize that their moment was over because he straightened up as well.

“Think you can get Derek away from Kate for the night again?” Stiles asked, unwilling to let Derek suffer under her any longer but Peter shook his head.

“She’s already suspicious. If I take Derek away for the night again, she might just make me turn anyway, keeping him in line with Axii,” Peter gave back and Stiles mulled that over for a few seconds.

“Sent him to me after dinner,” he decided. “Make something up about Laura and a new lead I’m investigating or something.”

“Fine,” Peter said and promptly turned around to walk away.

Thinking that this was the last time he would get the chance, Stiles turned around and, for the first time, watched Peter walk away from him.

It might have felt like closure for Stiles, if not for the sick feeling in his stomach.

~*~*~

When someone knocked at this door that evening, Stiles opened it immediately, expecting to see Derek, and being unpleasantly surprised when Kate was there as well.

Stiles still let them in, hoping that if Kate was here it would at least mean that Peter wouldn’t be forced to turn this evening, but he was also aware that they would have to move much faster than expected.

If Kate was here too, she was probably aware that they knew about her.

“Peter said you have some more questions?” Derek asked and reached for Kate’s hand, as if he was looking for support.

Stiles barely managed to not scoff at that, because Kate was the last person he should be touching right now.

“That’s right,” Stiles answered, keeping a close eye on Kate. “And it’s good you’re here too, I have some questions for you as well,” Stiles addressed her and Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

“I don’t know what I can help you with, but sure,” she said easily, but Stiles saw her subtly tensing.

“Why don’t you tell me where you’re from, first,” Stiles started and Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why would that be relevant?” she asked and Derek nodded as if he was in agreement.

“I just thought it would be good to get to know you better,” Stiles said with a shrug. “You seem important to Derek after all.”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Derek proudly said and Stiles spotted the telltale signs of the Axii rune on his face.

He was totally spacing out already, and Stiles wondered how Kate did it. He hadn’t seen her make the rune, but then again, he could only see one of her hands.

It seemed she was better at using the rune than he had thought in the beginning.

“I can see that,” Stiles said with a pointed look at their joined hands.

He was startled when someone knocked on his door again, but he still caught the beginnings of a smirk on Kate’s face and so Stiles rested his hand on one of his many daggers before he reacted to the knocking.

“Don’t you want to open the door?” Kate sweetly asked, as if everything was taking too long already and Stiles braced himself for an attack when he did just that.

Talia and Peter were on the other side and Stiles immediately knew that this evening had taken a turn for the worse.

Peter’s hand was clasped around Talia’s arm in a tight grip, and she was still struggling against him when Stiles faced them.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded to know and before Stiles could answer, Kate spoke up.

“Bring her in,” she demanded, and Peter pushed Talia inside, shouldering Stiles away in the process and Stiles could tell that Peter was totally under Kate’s control.

Well, shit.

“What is happening?” Talia asked, more unsure now as she saw how Kate pulled Derek in front of her, using him as a human shield.

“What’s happening is that this one,” Kate nodded at Stiles, “totally fucked up my plan, so you will have to die much sooner than I had originally planned.”

Stiles was standing slightly to the side, halfway between Peter and Talia on his right, and Kate and Derek on his left, and he carefully widened his stance, ready to attack Kate at any moment.

“Don’t even try it, mutant,” Kate spit in his direction and as if on cue Peter brought up a hand to rest it on Talia’s throat.

Stiles could see the beginnings of claws and despite everything he was impressed with he kind of control Kate had over the curse.

“Peter?” Talia asked and for the first time Stiles heard some uncertainty in her voice. “What is happening?”

“Peter is the werewolf and Kate is controlling him,” Stiles quickly explained and Talia’s eyes went wide.

“So he did kill Laura,” she whispered and if the situation wasn’t so tense, Stiles might have rolled his eyes at that, because this was absolutely not what was important right now.

“Derek, why don’t you step away from Kate?” Stiles tried but Derek didn’t even seem to realize that someone was talking to him.

“Don’t waste your breath, witcher. He’s under my control,” Kate said, obviously proud of it.

Talia tried to take a step forward only for Peter’s claws to cut into her throat.

“Under your control?” she asked when she realized that Peter wouldn’t let her go anywhere and Stiles got his sword out.

This situation was bound to escalate quickly.

“She’s using a mind-altering rune on both of them. Ensuring that they will do whatever she wants them to,” he explained to Talia without taking his eyes off Kate.

Sure, Peter was the werewolf, but Kate was the real threat here, and he wouldn’t let her hurt Derek any more than she already had.

“Derek was such an easy mark,” Kate purred and licked a line up his neck. “So desperate for attention.”

Derek didn’t even properly react to that, and it seemed to make Talia understand more than Stiles’ words ever could.

“Why did you kill Laura?” Stiles asked and Kate’s eyes fell on him.

“Not asking about your lover first?” she taunted but Stiles didn’t raise to the bait.

“You’re so boring,” Kate said after a few moments. “I killed Laura so the next matriarch in line would be a child,” Kate said, tone condescending. “You would have been next,” she said with a little nod at Talia.

“Why not make Laura the werewolf and bring her under your control?” Stiles wanted to know and Kate shrugged.

“Peter was much more convenient. Estranged from his family and his sister already hated him. Plus, there’s the little bonus of his magic, so controlling him was that much easier.”

“I knew it,” Talia muttered under her breath and Stiles wanted to hit her.

As if that was important right now.

“And Derek?” Stiles inquired further, hoping to keep her talking until he could come up with a plan.

“He’s just convenient. And so pretty,” Kate leered and Stiles felt sick just imagining what she had done to him.

“Plus it means I don’t only have control over the temporary head of the Hale family,” she said with a nod to Peter, “but I also get a wonderful plaything.”

Talia tried to dart forward again, hate clear on her face, but Peter still had a tight grip on her, and she only ended up hurting herself.

“Tsk, tsk, I would be careful,” Kate said. “I bet I don’t even have to control him, he’d kill you of his own free will if given the chance.”

“You’re wrong,” Stiles said, thinking back to how much family meant to Peter.

He would never hurt any of them if he could help it.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. He is under my control, and he will kill Talia,” Kate told them.

“Why are you doing this?” Talia whispered, eyes glued to her son.

“We’ve been trying to invade for months now,” Kate spit out. “But you and your damned armies kept the borders safe.”

“You’re from Redania,” Talia said and Kate nodded proudly.

“When you’re gone and I’m in control of Peter and Derek, your armies won’t stand a chance. We’ll annihilate you and finally move into the country.”

Stiles was following their conversation only with half an ear, only peripherally interested in the politics behind Kate’s unhinged behaviour, and he was keeping a lookout for any obvious weak spots. Kate still had Derek in front of her, and Stiles was convinced she wasn’t above sacrificing him to save her own life, useful pawn be damned.

And besides, she still had Peter.

Stiles looked over at Peter and Talia, but Peter was spaced out, clearly not realizing what he was doing at all and Stiles inwardly cursed.

He wasn’t sure he could protect both Talia and Derek if this situation escalated.

“But you,” Kate suddenly said and her attention had shifted to Stiles. “You had to come in and ruin everything.”

“Just doing my job,” Stiles easily said, tightening his grip on his sword.

“Not for much longer,” Kate hissed and looked over at Peter again, which really, was the only warning any of them got.

Stiles spotted the first hairs sprouting on Peter’s hand and he darted forward, slapping his hand away from Talia’s throat and forcefully dragging her away from Peter as he retreated again.

“You couldn’t kill him when you didn’t know who he was, I doubt you can do it now,” Kate sneered behind him and Stiles felt uneasy having her at his back, but Peter was his bigger concern right now.

Kate was right, he wouldn’t be able to properly fight against Peter, let alone kill him, but there was one thing he could do. Stiles dropped his sword and darted forwards just as Peter started to pull up to his frightening new height.

Stiles threw his arms around him, hugging him close, uncaring of the teeth filled mouth close to his neck, or of the long claws coming up at his sides.

He could do this one thing for Peter, and make sure he didn’t hurt his family again.

Stiles formed the Igni rune, and pulled the fire around his hand, before he slammed it down on Peter’s back.

Peter screamed when the hair and flesh was burned and Stiles could feel the claws sink into his side, but he didn’t let go.

He kept the fire going until he was sure the Axii rune was burned clean off Peter’s back and only then did he break the spell.

Peter was still screaming and Stiles hugged him harder for a second, one last time, wincing at the shifting claws in his side, before he pushed Peter away.

“What did you do?” Kate hissed when she realized that she no longer had control over Peter and the fear was evident in her voice. “He’ll kill us all.”

“No, he won’t,” Stiles said, absolutely certain of that.

Now that Peter was more or less in control again, human intelligence and own free will back, his human mind would influence the animal mind enough to not attack his family.

At least Stiles could give him that.

Peter looked around, eyes wide, lowly growling, but he didn’t make a move to attack any of them.

Stiles carefully edged around him, hand pressed to his side to slow down the blood flow and Peter’s head swiveled around to him, but Stiles didn’t stop. He went on until he could open the door and Peter immediately took that escape and jumped forwards.

He was stumbling more than running though and Stiles frowned at that, concerned that he had hurt Peter more than he had intended to, but then Peter was out of the room and gone in the next second.

 Stiles took a second to breathe before he reached for his other sword, turning around to Kate, who was now holding a dagger to Derek’s throat.

“If you think you won, you’re mistaken,” she said.

Talia raised her hands and took a step forward, imploring Stiles to stop, but Stiles didn’t even look at her.

He would not let get Kate away with this.

She had ruined everything; she had hurt Peter and his family and Stiles would never forgive her for that.

Especially not since it was her fault Peter would kill himself as soon as he turned back to human in the morning.

“I will kill you,” Stiles promised her, calm as anything, because Kate had nowhere to run.

Stiles would catch her anywhere, and he would make sure he killed her

There was no way he would allow her to live.

“I will kill Derek,” she threatened and increased the pressure on his throat.

Talia gasped at Stiles’ side, making another aborted movement but Stiles couldn’t care less.

His school taught him speed and flexibility and Kate didn’t stand a chance against him.

He bent his knees lightly, before he pushed off and flew towards Kate and Derek.

Kate had enough time to look startled before Stiles was there, grabbing the dagger with his bare hand and pulling it away from Derek, pushing him none too gently out of the way and towards Talia who immediately reached for her son.

“You’ve lost,” Stiles lowly said and Kate stared wide-eyed at him.

She brought up her other hand, trying to form an Axii sign and Stiles laughed at that.

“You think you have any power over me?” he asked her, voice like steel, and he knew his eyes were glowing.

“Please don’t,” she begged, and suddenly her whole demeanor changed.

If Stiles didn’t know better he would say she was just a frightened young girl, and he had to admit that she was very good at that.

But he wouldn’t forget what she had done to the one person Stiles actually loved, and he certainly wouldn’t be fooled by a little act.

“You’re a monster,” Stiles told her, before he sunk his sword into her stomach.

Kate gasped and folded forwards, slumping against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Your only mistake was touching Peter,” he whispered into her hair and then felt her go lax against him.

He was ready to step back, let her fall to the floor like the scum she was, but suddenly Kate pushed him away, yanking the sword out of her gut and making for the door.

Stiles briefly debated letting her go; a gut wound like that would make sure she died rather sooner than later, but he thought back to everything she did and instead of letting her flee out of the door, he threw a Yrden sign out, effectively trapping her.

Stiles made sure that he used an easy one, only stunning her instead of injuring her further, and when Kate realized she wouldn’t make it out of this room, she turned towards Stiles, sneer on her face.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” she asked him, and Stiles didn’t even need to answer that.

Her fear was evident in the haunted looks she threw around, in the shaking of her hands, and how she desperately tried to stop the blood flow.

She knew she would die here, too.

“I should have killed Peter right after he tore Laura apart,” she spat out. “But he was such a lovely mutt to play with.”

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed at her, and he could feel the anger bubbling up in him, ice cold and consuming when he thought about Peter.

He tried to push down the hurt, tried to push down the thought of Peter killing himself in the morning when he finally would come back to himself, but it rose right with the anger.

Stiles let it course through him, and then he called on Igni again, letting the flames cackle around his hands just like the anger and pain were burning inside him.

Kate’s eyes widened in unmistakable fear when she saw the sparks and she tried to get out of the trap again, but couldn’t manage it. Not with how weak she was already growing.

“You can kill me,” she started and Stiles scoffed at that.

“I will make sure that I do,” Stiles interrupted her and Kate squared her shoulders, uncaring of the wound in her middle.

She knew it was over, and she was making one last play.

“Redania will kill you in return. We will invade and my father will make sure to hit here first, when he hears what happened to me.”

“Guess he just won’t get to hear about it then,” Stiles said coldly and then released the fire.

Kate was engulfed in seconds, her scream piercing and horrible, but Stiles didn’t avert his eyes.

This was everything she deserved.

Her screams cut off much faster than Stiles would have thought, Kate now only a burned figure on the ground, and Stiles regarded her for a second before he turned around to pick up his sword and clean it on his bedsheet.

“Mom?” Derek suddenly asked, and Stiles turned towards Talia and Derek.

Talia was torn between staring at Stiles and the corpse on the floor, pressing Derek against her and not allowing him to look.

“I killed the one responsible for your daughter’s death,” Stiles said in her general direction and then turned away.

Stiles had nothing else to say to them, he certainly wouldn’t stick around to deal with that fallout. Talia knew now what to look out for; if Kate’s father got to her, it was her own fault.

Stiles picked up his silver sword on his way to the door, sheathing both of them on his back as he stepped past the still smoldering corpse on the ground.

He walked out of the room without a look back, feeling number than he had in quite some time, and he made his way over to the stables without really realizing what he was doing.

Stiles still had a few things in his room, things he actually needed, but he didn’t want to stick around, didn’t want to wait for the morning and for someone to find Peter’s body somewhere.

Peter had been right; Stiles wanted to leave and never know for certain.

He was almost at Roscoe’s stable when he heard someone approach from the woods. Stiles felt too emotionally tired to fight again, and if Peter came out of the woods now, Stiles wasn’t sure if he wasn’t just going to go down without a fight.

It wouldn’t make a difference, after all.

He turned around, not even reaching for his weapons and patiently waited.

But when Peter, perfectly human Peter, stumbled through the doors, Stiles froze on the spot.

At least until Peter tripped over his own feet and nearly fell down. Stiles jumped into action at that, darting forward to catch Peter before he could hit the ground.

“Peter?” Stiles asked, grip probably too tight, and he would curse his shaking voice, if he could bring himself to care right now.

“What’s going on?” Stiles wanted to know, unsure if this was even real.

Peter moved against him, but Stiles tightened his grip even further, keeping Peter close and eventually Peter huffed.

“Fine, we’re hugging, I get it,” he muttered but brought his hands up to encircle Stiles.

“How are you here?” Stiles asked and Peter pressed a kiss to his temple before he finally pulled away.

“You’ve read all about the cures, idiot,” Peter whispered and then pulled Stiles into a kiss. “I love you, too,” he mumbled against his lips, and Stiles shook his head, still confused.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted, hands still clutched in Peter’s shirt. “The cures are bullshit.”

“Not the one about true love, apparently,” Peter gave back and pressed one, two, three more kisses against Stiles’ lips.

“Why did you burn off the rune?” Peter asked him instead of answering the question that must still be clear on Stiles’ face.

“I couldn’t let you hurt your family again,” Stiles mumbled and Peter carefully rested his hand on Stiles’ side, still tacky with his own blood, but no longer bleeding.

“And you didn’t care about your own safety.”

“You were more important,” Stiles gave back and Peter smiled at him.

“And there you have it. You acted selfless, and kind of reckless, out of love. It’s just not about the feeling; it’s about an act,” Peter explained and beamed at Stiles.

“You broke the curse. I started to turn back before I even reached the woods.”

“It’s still the middle of the night,” Stiles said numbly, because he wasn’t quite understanding what was happening.

He was still expecting Peter to show up dead at one point, or to turn again, but Peter pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay,” he said into Stiles’ hair. “I’m safe, and I won’t kill myself. You saved me. You said you would and you did.”

Stiles could feel tears in his eyes, again, and he clutched at Peter’s back as he buried his face in his neck.

“You’re not leaving,” Stiles said into his skin and he could feel Peter shake his head.

“I’m not leaving,” he promised and then laughed. “In fact, I think I will go with you.”

Stiles squeezed Peter harder at that, before he suddenly startled and pushed Peter away.

“Your back,” he quickly said at Peter’s questioning gaze. “I burned you.”

“It’s all healed up,” Peter promised and turned around to raise his shirt.

There was a nasty burn wound on Peter’s back, almost in the shape of Stiles hand, but it looked like it was years old already. The Axii rune wasn’t visible at all.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” Stiles said and lightly trailed his fingers over the scar, but Peter dropped the shirt and turned back around to him.

“And I’m sorry I did this to you, so I guess we’re even,” he said lightly and touched the scars on Stiles’ face and then the wound on his side, where new scars would no doubt form as well.

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles gave back, and Peter threw him a glance that clearly said it wasn’t Stiles’ fault either. 

Stiles huffed at that before he broke out into relieved laughter.

“I can’t believe this all worked out,” he said when he had his breath back, and Peter looked at him softly.

“It always does, for you,” he said and then kissed Stiles again.

“This is not going to stop anytime soon, is it?” Stiles asked, but he wasn’t objecting and Peter knew it.

“Not if I can help it. We waited long enough,” he said and Stiles had to agree with him.

“Are you going to face Talia again?” Stiles asked after they stared at each other for a few moments.

“I don’t think so,” Peter gave back with a wince. “She knows I killed Laura, and I’m pretty sure she’ll figure out I have magic too. Not to mention that she’ll happily blame me for whatever trauma Derek is going through now.” He stopped for a moment before he asked: “What happened to Kate?”

“I killed her,” Stiles immediately replied, and Peter seemed more than satisfied by that.

“Good,” he said with feeling and Stiles smiled at him before he remembered something.

“Talia already knows you have magic. Kate kind of spilled the beans.”

“All the more reason to leave,” Peter decidedly said and turned towards the house. “Think we can sneak in and get our stuff without being noticed?”

“I don’t know if you will be able to do that, but I definitely can,” Stiles gave back jokingly, and Peter beamed at him.

He seemed happier than Stiles could ever remember, and Stiles had to admit that he was quite happy himself.

They agreed to gather their things and meet back in the stable in fifteen minutes and they sneaked off to their rooms.

Kate’s corpse was still lying in a puddle of her blood, but Stiles barely spared her a glance. He quickly gathered his things, stuffing everything into his bag and then made his way back out.

He didn’t run into anyone, and he thanked the gods for that.

When he reached the stable, Peter was already there, small bag slung over his shoulder and looking at the horses.

“Talia?” Stiles asked and Peter shrugged.

“I haven’t seen her, or Derek. It’s for the best, really,” he said and then quickly saddled one of the mares.

He didn’t seem to want to linger for any longer, and Stiles was totally on board with leaving this whole chapter behind them.

Stiles got Roscoe saddled and out of the stable too, and then they just stood next to each other, staring at the estate for a minute.

“Ready to go?” Stiles eventually asked, aware that he was asking Peter to leave his whole life behind.

Peter turned towards him, small smile playing around his mouth, and there was no hesitation when he said, “Absolutely.”

Stiles smiled back at him and then swung up on Roscoe’s back.

They turned around and left the Hale estate behind without looking back once.

They had much more to look forward to.


End file.
